Shooting Stars
by Sachita
Summary: Follow Rogue squadron pilots Wedge Antilles, Tycho Celchu, Derek Hobbie Klivian and Wes Janson on a journey to their past, present and future. Chapter 24 up!
1. Wedge Antilles: Hands

_That´s part one of some little stories about the pilots of Rogue Squadron which I wrote.  
It´s basically about Wedge Antilles´ reflections after the destruction of the second death , don´t be too hard on me, if my English isn´t very good.  
I try my best but I am from old Europe and English isn´t my native language.  
I hope you like it and I always look forward to getting reviews..  
Sachita (-: _

_Rating: PG-13, just to be safe, also this one could possibly be also lower-rated_

_Disclaimer: All rights of Star Wars and all the characters mentioned belong to Lucasfilm Ltd. _

_The quote belongs to Oscar Wilde, an Irish Poet, Novelist and Dramatist, who lived from 1854-1900.  
_

* * *

_When liberty comes with hands dabbled in blood it´s hard to shake hands with her. Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)_

**

* * *

****Hands**

**

* * *

**

They had won.

It had been a risky battle and they had come close to losing, but they had won.  
The emperor was dead. The people were celebrating.  
So why wasn't he…?

Yes, why?  
It was a cool night, yet a warm one, alight with joy and the huge bonfires, which the little furry creatures had lightened- there on the forest moon Endor.

Wedge Antilles, Rogue two, Rogue Squadron's executive commander, one of the destroyers of the second Death Star,  
Veteran fighter pilot and survivor of Yavin and Hoth sat alone on top of a soft hill, knees drawn to his chest and arms around them, head thrown back with a vacant expression in the dark eyes.

Yes, they had just defeated the most powerful and most evil two men the galaxy had ever known, yes, the Rebellion had managed to gain everything they had ever – and he had too- dreamt of.  
So why wasn't he out there at the festivities, laughing along with the others?

Wedge sighed. He had every right to be happy, to let go of his responsibilities for once, yet-  
…

He held his hands out in front of him. The pale moonlight which fell on them allowed him to investigate them closely. Nothing.  
They were still the same old, calloused hands he had had when he had first joined the Rebels, but it was him who wasn't the same anymore.

Sometimes he woke up sweating with the same old nightmares, hands, with blood spreading slowly over them, starting with the fingertips, over their back, further- further- until the hands were coated in dark, red, heavy blood.  
**_His _**hands.

But that wasn't the worst in this dreams- no, he had been in situations before where his hands had indeed been splattered with blood- being a soldier involved facing terrifying situations, where he had to kill- hell, his whole life was about killing the Alliance's enemies!-but that was what he fought for- their belief in a free galaxy—

No the worst were those haunting, whispering quiet voices..

_Murderer…_

_Coward…_

_Killer…_

Worst of all, he **knew **they were right. He was everything they accused him of.

Others would probably excuse his deeds with sentences like:  
_You just did what you had to. You simply followed your orders.  
It was your destiny and it was the will of the force that you survived._

Of course. Luke and his force.  
It wasn't as if Wedge wouldn't respect the Jedi- Luke was one of his closest friends- one of the ones who were still alive!- but sometimes Wedge didn't want to hear Luke explaining everything which happened with the force.

Was it the will of the force that Jek "Piggy" Porkins,Biggs Darklighter Zev Senesca…just to name a few of those who had been dear to him- were dead?  
He knew he was unjust towards Luke- as it had been his loss as well.  
But it hadn't been Luke who had failed.

It had been _him_.

Wedge clutched at his chest- his throat was tight and his eyes burnt with unshed tears.

No. He wouldn't give those little nagging voices in his head the satisfaction of seeing him break down . Not again.  
He wiped his eyes angrily.

_Should have been you who died there at Yavin, not Biggs._

Wedge didn't have to say anything for himself. He knew the voice was right-

_Yet you left, left Biggs to die there—Coward!_

The voice stabbed him like a knife- in the only place where he couldn't protect himself properly- his heart.  
"No…" he protested weakly, but he was ready to back down, give in the torrential maelstrom made of blurred images and gloomy memories- ready to let himself be pulled down there.

Again.

Helplessly, he buried his face in his hands, let his guilt consume him, yet his eyes were dry.

_Your fault- your fault-your fault-yours, no one else is responsible-_

He _**could**_ have done something, was what he told himself all the time.  
It had been years now since that day, but he could still remember everything as clearly as if it had been yesterday…

* * *

**_Battle of Yavin- four years prior_**

_Green laser beams targeted Wedge_'_s X-wing, while he tried to fly evasive manoeuvres in the narrow trench.  
Glancing over his shoulder, Wedge saw that the modified TIE- Fighter was still hot on his heels- it seemed to him as if he would remain oblivious to his prey_'_s desperate attempts to shake him off._

"_Damn!" Wedge cursed. "That guy is simply too good."_

_He said to his astromech:  
"Can you support the rear deflectors with additional energy?  
We have to think fast of something because we have to distract them until Luke blows this thing up." His R2 chirped an affirmative but before it had the chance to do anything, a great blow let the X-Wing shudder and sparks flew._

_Wedge was thrown in the direction of the instrument panel._

_He leaned forwards to inspect the damage done._

_The instruments on his panel blinked red- some of them were even burnt through- his X-Wing had suffered severe damage and Wedge knew, he couldn_'_t control it anymore. The only thing he could do was pull out now, if he didn_'_t want to join his dead comrades or endanger Luke or Biggs._

_All this calculations had been made in less than a second._

_With a heavy heart and a knot in his stomach he called out:_

_"I'm hit! I can't stay with you."_

_Luke_'_s voice came back, calmer than Wedge would have thought possible in this situation:  
__"Get clear, Wedge. You can't do any more good back there!"__  
Wedge sighed.__"Sorry!"_

_

* * *

_

How sorry he had been and was now as well…still.  
He should have- **could have** done something to prevent Biggs's death, even if he didn't know what…  
Wedge felt as if he should have died down there- he would have gladly done so, if he could have changed the following happenings.  
But he had failed and Biggs was dead…-

Soon after the evacuation of Yavin, they had come to Hoth.  
Wedge had sworn to himself to get never close to anyone anymore- he even avoided talking with Luke if it was possible.

But then he had met Tycho. Tycho Celchu from Alderaan, an Ex-Imperial TIE pilot who had defected after Alderaan's destruction.  
Wedge didn't even want to begin to imagine what Tycho must have gone through- yet the other man was always cool, always keeping his emotions in check…  
Some were of the opinion, that Celchu didn't have a heart anymore- not after Alderaan- but Wedge knew better.

Now Wedge couldn't really imagine life without him, Derek "Hobbie" Klivian, a Ralltiirian native and defected graduate from the Imperial Academy and  
Wes Janson from Tanaab, all fellow pilots.

It wasn't such a quick, fast friendship like his friendship with Jek Porkins born out of need and limited time but it wasn't like his friendship with Luke, with whom he had only shortly talked and had immediately felt familiar with either, it was something different.

Most surely as deep as Luke's and his friendship, but it had been a difficult process to get there because of their different attitudes-  
Janson with his childish pranks, which really annoyed the straight-laced, sometimes slightly over-correct Tycho and the ever mournful, dour Hobbie, who in turn annoyed Wedge with his pessimistic announcements- and Wedge himself, who was reluctant to open up to anyone after Yavin.

But in the end, after several occasions like saving each others lives, giving Wes a taste of his own prank-medicine, getting Tycho drunk until he couldn't articulate the word "X-Wing" anymore, dared Hobbie to be nothing but optimistic for a week and tickled the poor guy so unmercifully until he was almost crying with laughter- and- Wedge chuckled, when he thought of the things they had done with him-

Wes had involved him and Tycho in one of his pranks he played on Luke- it had been truly amusing at least until they had been caught. But instead of reverting back to his strict self, which Wedge and Wes had halfway expected from Tycho when they had been caught, the Alderaanian had surprised them and a not very amused Luke with breaking out in peals of laughter. Wedge had looked over at him and had smiled at the sight for he had never seen Tycho laugh like that before; and Luke, though scowling and dripping with water, had caught his eye and returned the small smile.

With Hobbie he had spent a free afternoon, chatting about everything but the war that was going on around them. When Hobbie had heard about Wedge's love for patisserie, he had inaugurated him in the secrets of a Ralltiirian pyramid cake yet had forbidden him in the same breath to bake said cake, reminding him of his -failed- experiments with a cooked Tauntaun on Hoth. Hobbie instead had taken it upon himself to prepare the cake for them. When they had all sat around a table, enjoying the cake and complimenting Hobbie, the Ralltiirian had smiled modestly. In that moment Wedge had understood that the pessimism served as a shield for Hobbie and had tried his best to get to know the man behind it, who turned out to be a honest comrade with a big heart and a wry sense of humor.

With Tycho they had all gone swimming in a lake while they were stationed for on a planet in the Outer Rim where the Empire had not much influence.  
They had been forced to stay there because of the chaotic situation on Hoth, where the Alliance had had problems with arranging the places for the soldiers properly since everyone had arrived in a disordered mass at the same time.  
So they had asked Red Squadron to stay under disguise on said planet, which had huge similarities to Alderaan, yet it was much smaller.

It was a hot planet and they had been glad to be allowed to go swimming.  
Afterwards they had all talked for a long time and they had been there when Tycho had told them of Alderaan's beauty, so similar to this planet. The memories had choked him up and he had made no move to prevent the tears that had finally escaped his strict control.  
They were the only ones he allowed to see that he had weaknesses too- and they grew even closer because of that trust he endowed them with.

Wedge still wondered, how in this time of pain, battles and blood they could have got so close and have so much fun- regardless of the death and sorrow, which waited for them every day.

He closed his eyes, reliving the painful time on Hoth next.  
He could almost feel the icy winds crawling up on him…

* * *

_**Hoth, one year prior...**_

_Leia spotted Wedge Antilles, Luke_'_s second-in-command leaning against his X-Wing in the hangar, evidently just finished with some checks.  
His breath made white clouds appear in the air and the cold colored his nose and cheeks red.  
_

"_Wedge!" she called urgently, taking some comfort in the fact that at least **he **was there, unharmed and obviously in a relatively good mood ,she noticed absentmindedly, when she saw him smile at her.  
Now she had to be the bearer of bad news to him- how she wished it was different._

_The Corellian jogged over to her, rubbing his hands on his working suit._  
"_Your highness-"_

_Leia cut him off " Luke is missing."  
Wedge stared at the Alderaanian princess._

"_Wh-what? Luke?..How?When?"_

_Ice filled his heart- how he managed to speak around the sharp lump in his throat was a miracle for him._

"_On the last patrol. He didn_'_t come back. Han has gone outside to search him."_

"_What? Han Solo? But we must look for him as well!- Leia!"_

_Leia cut him off again, with a heavy heart._  
"_No. It_'_s too dangerous, we can_'_t endanger the men."_

_Wedge was shocked, he couldn_'_t help himself:_  
"_But-that_'_s Luke."  
Not waiting for a reply, he continued:" All the men here would give their lives for him- Leia, he_'_s our Commander!"_

_General Rieekan had stepped up._  
"_You will do as the princess said, Lieutenant Antilles. That_'_s an **order**."_

_Wedge saluted sharply and Leia looked at him with empathy._  
"_Yes, sir."_  
"_If you would excuse me, sir, Princess. I need to…go…somewhere-"  
He broke up, saluted again and retreated with hasty steps, breaking in a run, when he was almost out of their sight._

_The General sighed. "It_'_s hard. He_'_s still so young-"_

"_But hardly naïve anymore, general." _

_Leia said. "He_'_s strong. He will manage the loss of another friend if he must."_

"_But will you, princess?" Without waiting for a reply, the General turned sharply on his heels, leaving Leia to stand in the deserted hangar, looking at the ground._

_Wedge was lying in his bunk, staring at the ceiling.  
He seriously considered severing all ties with Hobbie, Wes and Tycho._

_It seemed as if all his friends lived in continuous danger- and worst of all, he had failed Luke. Again. Perhaps he was a magnet for Catastrophes.  
First his parents, then Biggs, Porkins and now Luke!- Luke who he considered one of his best friends...  
_

_But he was a soldier and the dying would never stop.  
But perhaps, perhaps he could become as passive as General Rieekan, perhaps he could protect his friends better that way- and perhaps himself too._

_However, Hobbie, Tycho and Wes didn't leave him, despite his efforts of acting cold and aloof._

"_We know how you feel, Wedge. "  
Hobbie said and for a moment a pained looked crossed his mournful face,so Wedge wondered whether he was reminded of something in his past.  
_

_Hobbie continued:_ "_But we are your friends as well and what are friends for if not for each other?"  
Wes added: "We_'_ll always be by your side, boss, even if everyone else has left."_

_The third pilot, Tycho told him with a little smile:_  
"_And do not try to act so aloof anymore, Wedge. It doesn_'_t suit you, and besides, when I was an Imperial pilot, I developed this stiffness to perfection, so do not think you would be able to fool me."_

_When they saw Wedge_'_s still serious face, Hobbie finally sighed and sat down next to him:_  
"_Everyone makes his own choices , Wedge. It wasn_'_t your fault that Luke is in bacta now."_

_Wes finally broke the uncomfortable silence:_  
"_Besides Wedge, who would be around to drive you crazy, if not us?"_

_Wedge eventually allowed himself a small smile and thought that he was ready to face the future with them at his side, mo matter what that future might bring._

_

* * *

_

Hoth however had been a nightmare without end.  
Shortly after Luke had recovered, the Empire had arrived.

It had been a hasty retreat and they had lost a lot of lives with the ground troops, on the transporters, pilots and almost Hobbie as well…but in the end the four of them came out alive…Not so many of their fellow pilots though.

Wedge dug his fingers in the mossy ground he was sitting on and thought sadly of a laughing face belonging to a gentle, polite man and a wonderful comrade: Zev Senesca, one out of many who had died on that icy planet.

They had flown to the meeting point, but neither Commander Luke Skywalker nor Leia Organa and Han Solo had shown up.  
Wedge had been forced to take command- a position which he felt quite ill at ease with first.

* * *

"_But Sir…."_

_Admiral Ackbar swirled his chair around to meet the astonished face of young lieutenant Wedge Antilles._

"_Yes. Until Luke Skywalker comes back, you have now legitimately the command of Rogue squadron. You are as able to have command as some of our senior officers, Antilles, and that_'_s a fact. It doesn_'_t matter that you are still young."_

_Wedge stared at his hands and his steps were heavy when he saluted and left the room..  
Now he was responsible for the lives of a whole squadron of pilots._

_

* * *

_

Wedge rolled on his back and stared at the stars, contemplating the events which had followed Hoth.  
A sense of normality had returned to the squadron, when Luke had returned, but he had still been forced to take command of the squadron pretty frequently.

And now, there had been Endor. They had killed the second death star and again, all four of them as well as Luke had survived.

Wedge had been Red Leader, but by now he was used to so much responsibility and didn't have any problems with commanding a whole squadron.  
Wedge wondered whether it was the will of the force that they had all come out unscathed,but if it was, he wasn't going to challenge it, no, for once he praised it.

Luke looked around and nudged Leia. "Where's Wedge?"

"Don't know. But," she added hastily upon seeing his concerned face, "He did arrive here. I saw him before."

Luke frowned and jumped when someone cried near his ear: "Luke!"

"Wedge! Where've you been?"

He embraced his friend fiercely.

"I only came to terms with myself, that's all."

Wedge's reply was mysterious and quiet, but Luke was too happy to see him and most of the others safe here, so he didn't press it.

"Your highness," Wedge bowed to Leia.

"Oh no, Antilles."

"What?"

"Well, if I am _Your Highness_, then you're Antilles."

She wagged her finger at him.

Wedge laughed heartily. " Princess Leia."

"You always find a way, don't you, Wedge?"

"Of course", he replied, making an offended face.  
"I am a Corellian after all."

Leia laughed and Luke chuckled.

"Wedge!" someone cried again.  
Wedge frowned and turned around, only to be met by a good-natured slap on his shoulder.

"Ouch! What was that for?" he asked, making his best  
"I-am-an-offended-officer-and-you-are-the-culprit-" face.

Tycho Celchu chuckled: "For leaving us alone and searching for you, you nerf."  
Then he spotted Leia and upon seeing Alderaan's princess, his eyes widened.

"Your highness!"

Leia sighed: "Not you as well."

Tycho stared at her, confused.

"She doesn't appreciate being called like that."

"Ah" Tycho said and Wedge noticed, that his breath smelled a bit of ale.  
The others had obviously already been celebrating their victory.

_Victory over the Empire._ Wedge smiled.  
For the first time, the mouldy aftertaste of old coffee he always tasted on his tongue upon hearing those words was gone.

Tycho meanwhile had worked out a solution…  
"Princess Leia then."

Leia groaned and buried her face in her hands and a muffled  
"It thought he was from Alderaan" could be heard.  
Tycho looked flabbergasted, while Luke and Wedge started to snicker.

* * *

Some time later, Luke asked everyone to quieten down.  
"I have an announcement to make. Lieutenant Antilles, if you would please come here."

Wedge stared at him, wondering what he was possibly up to.  
Hesitantly, he stepped forwards and joined Luke.

He could see Tycho, Wes and Hobbie staring curiously at him, along with the rest of the Rogues.  
Luke suddenly became very formal.

"Attention, Lieutenant."

Wedge immediately snapped to attention and saluted sharply, yet he wondered silently, what that was all about.  
"At ease." Wedge loosened up a bit, nonetheless he remained in a military posture.

"Lieutenant Antilles, you are hereby with immediate effect promoted to a commander and from now on you are in command of Rogue Squadron. Do you accept?"

Wedge was absolutely shocked, but not in a bad way.

"Yes, of course…" he replied, blushing, when he heard Luke clear his throat and Janson chortle somewhere in the background because of his lack of military protocol.  
Realizing that all eyes were on him, he fought hard to keep himself from blushing again.

"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir."

"Good, Commander. " Luke removed Wedge's Lieutenant insignia and fastened a Commander's one at his uniform.

"So Rogues", Luke drawled with a wide grin blossoming on his boyish features. "Meet your new commander."

The Rogues were silent for a moment, then they cheered loudly and Wedge grinned involuntarily. Of course, Wes was the one to interrupt the solemn moment.

"Do I get kitchen duty, Commander Antilles?"

"Why?" Wedge inquired warily.

"Well Wedge, I sort of threatened the cook earlier because of her terrible lemon cocktails- and let's be serious, no one who doesn't want a serious case of poisoning would touch them anyway.  
She was so angry that she threw me out and told me she won't be cooking any more meals for Rogue squadron. I just wanted to tell you now, when you are all in such a good mood."

His statement was met with stunned silence, then Luke said smugly:  
"Well, since**_ his_** duty is to care for **_your_** well-being now, it looks as if you are all stuck with Wedge's cooking, guys."

There was a moment of silence.

Then...

"Nooo. We are doomed," wailed Hobbie and buried his face in his hands.

"Wes!" the other members of Rogue Squadron shouted.

Wes took off running. "No…please. I am innocent. Don't hurt me."

Wedge smiled and gazed after his friends.

Life was good despite everything and he was ready to face every challenge the future held in stash for him with them at his side.

* * *

Tbc?


	2. Hobbie Klivian: Frost Flowers

Disclaimer: All rights of Star Wars belong to Lucas Film Ltd.  
The quote belongs to Francis Bacon (English philosopher and lawyer, who lived from 1561 until 1626).

I wrote this piece in a very thoughtful moment... I mean, every day, you can see in the daily news that many people died. No day passes, where no people die in war or because of assaults. I thought about that so much so many deaths and so much sorrow could be avoided if the humans wouldn't start new wars all the time. But I guess, that's one of the things, which will never happen.  
Also in the holidays one of my teachers passed away- she had cancer.  
I mean, I have never known her that much, but when death comes so sudden and abrupt- just half a year before,  
she still taught us-it makes you think a lot.

Ok, I'll just stop my ramblings now.

Thank you very much** SW Banshee**, **ApprenticeEternal **and **TriGemini **for your reviews_  
_

* * *

_"Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand-and melting like a snowflake..."_

* * *

**Frost Flowers**

_

* * *

_

_White._

_Black._

_Pain..._

_The man groaned and tried to sit up. But when he tried to do so, he felt a great weight on his chest, which pinned him down._  
_Deeper, deeper down- and now, when he opened his eyes, there was nothing but white._

_He went rigid with sudden fear and panic._  
_No! He felt, as if he couldn't breathe anymore and he kicked wildly around._

_Finally he recognized his surroundings. Hoth…the ice planet._  
_The man looked up, expecting to see the sky. Nothing. It was still white._  
_He would soon run out of air, his life suit hadn't been made to preserve air for a very long time. But who was he? And, more important, where was he?_  
_He found himself to be laying on top of a broken snow speeder- how had he gotten there?_

_A piece of paper on the broken instrument panel caught his eye:_  
_"Good luck, buddy. See you back at base. - Wes"_

_Wes….The man groaned and took his head in his hands._  
_He felt cold and his whole body hurt like hell….tired…so tired._  
_Maybe he should just lie down and sleep for just…a little bit._  
_Not long…just a nap. _

_His eyelids fluttered and his whole body felt indescribably heavy, but suddenly he heard another voice in his mind._  
_"Don't nod off, Klivian. Focus better on your flying. This TIE could have vaped you easily with a bit more effort on his part."_

_Wedge, Wedge Antilles's voice. He remembered now._  
_Derek Klivian….Hobbie Klivian. His name._  
_Wes...a laughing face, his own voice shouting: "Get back here, you nerf!"_  
_There had been a battle against the Empire…He had flown this very snow speeder._

_"C'mon, Hobbs. Just come back in one piece. Promise me, will you?"_  
_He had looked up seriously, blue eyes meeting green ones._  
_"I will, Wes. Just pay attention yourself, buddy."_

_Wes…he had promised him to come back._  
_"Always keep your promises, Derek."_  
_His mother- his sweet, caring mother had told him that once._

_Weakly, he grasped at the remains of what seemed to have been the ejection seat of the snow speeder under him and stemmed himself against it, trying to get away from the deadly white mass and back to the light._

_Blurred memories of screaming: "I'm hit! Red four is hit!"_  
_"Eject, four ! Eject!"_  
_Memories of not hitting the eject button in time, memories of crashing in one of the Imperials' war machines, then falling- falling- black. _

_He was close to panic again. Where was the surface?_  
_No! He had to get out of here, had to tell…had to tell Wes.. that he was a man who stood to his promises and he didn't want to die._  
_Something over twenty years was much too young to die._

_He spit out and felt more than saw the saliva drip in the the snow._  
_Satisfied, when he finally had the right direction, because the saliva would always drip in the direction of the planet's gravitation he shifted his body slightly and began to crawl upwards._

_His left leg wouldn't obey him and he felt as if whole body would burn._  
_Sithspit! Hobbie coughed and winced._  
_Stay calm. Stay calm. _

_The stern voice cut into his thoughts quite abruptly._  
_"Behave like the soldiers that you are, men. Like steel and iron."_  
_Soontir Fel , his former Imperial flying instructor at the academy had always told that the soon-to be TIE pilots…_

_Hobbie gasped strangely and black spots danced in front of his weary eyes._  
_He was flying, tumbling, crashing down._  
_Snow. Fire. Black. Grey._  
_Then a searing pain…black….no, a voice!_  
_A voice he hadn't heard for so long…_

_"Rek! Rek! Save me, Derek! Rek! Please!"_  
_A voice, once so happy, now distorted with pain and sorrow._  
_"Reeek!" Then- silence._

* * *

"Noooo!"

Lieutenant Derek "Hobbie" Klivian awoke with a start in sweat-drenched clothes.  
He looked cautiously over to his long-time friend and room-mate Wes Janson.  
The merry-faced pilote and self-appointed prankster king slept on, snoring softly.

Hobbie smiled relieved and chuckled a bit upon hearing Wes mumble in his sleep.

"Don' t wanna have kitchen duty again, Wedge!"

"Well" Hobbie told him softly, amused, "don't drive Wedge mad anymore then."  
Wes blearily opened one eye and squinted. "Hob?"'  
"Shush, Wes. Go back to sleep."  
"Hm…" The other pilot closed his eyes again and snored on.

Slowly, Hobbie dressed himself and finally slipped in his boots.  
He trembled and his whole body shook.  
_Talking about being like steel and iron, Hobbs. Really, get a grip on yourself!_  
It wasn't as if it hadn't happened before.  
He was accustomed to recurring nightmares, but it had been such a long, long time since he had last heard her voice.  
Wearily he shook his head and made his way to the door, his boots making soft padding sounds on the cold metallic ground of the base.

* * *

Tycho Celchu sat on the wing of his X-Wing, enjoying the night's light breeze.  
Soft footsteps on the ground made him turn around.  
When the person came closer, Tycho could make out a sandy mop of hair.  
Only one man at the base had such hair.

"Hobbs, over here!" he called his friend quietly, wondering what on earth the other man was doing up that late.

Hobbie wandered closer. Tycho noticed the dark shadows under the other man's eyes and his pale appearance.

"Hobbie, are you alright?" he asked worriedly.

"Of course. Never been better."  
Hobbie smiled and leaned casually against the X-Wing, but that effect was somewhat diminished by his erratic movements and the shaking hand he brought up to comb through his short hair.

Tycho saw right through him. "Come on, Hobbie and sit a little with me."  
Hobbie hesitated, but then climbed next to him on the wing.  
The Alderaanian looked firmly at his frantic friend.

Finally, when the other man remained silent, he sighed tiredly:

" I know, you're not alright Hobbie, so stop giving me these elusions you always come up with."

"Everything is alright."  
The hard Ralltiirian accent in Hobbie's words was more audible than normally and Tycho regarded the friend with even more worry, when the other buried his head in his hands.

* * *

Hobbie stared at the ground for a long while after his words, trying to collect his thoughts. It had not just been a nightmare- he felt as if everything he had tried to forget over the years was catching up with him.  
He glanced over to Tycho. The man had had it so much worse than him, there was no reason for him to be that miserable, really.  
But still…

After a good ten minutes he lifted his head abruptly from his hands.  
"Do you still remember the day we got Biggs back for that sand incident?"  
If Tycho was surprised by this sudden change of topic, he hid it well.

His eyes twinkled happily when he laughed genuinely.

"Oh, yeah. It was fun, was it not?"

The tall Alderaanian continued, trying to lighten the strained mood, that hung over both pilots.  
"I will always remember his expression, when he discovered his hair's lovely shade of blue in the next morning…"  
Their flight instructor, Soontir Fel hadn't been so amused though.  
It had earned both of them some lectures about discipline in the Imperial Academy and some months of kitchen duty.

Biggs was dead now though and it still left a sore taste in Tycho's mouth to think about how he wasn't even able to tell him how much he appreciated his friendship…

"One of the days we still could have fun."  
Hobbie said morosely, startling the other out of his thoughts. He didn't look at Tycho yet he was aware of the frequent worried glances sent his way.

The ground had an unique design- from up here it was far more interesting.  
Spirals and circles, competing with large scratches and quadratic forms left from the ships landing and starting.  
A forgotten oil can stood on the ground just under his dangling boots.

_Drip-drip._ Oil seeped on the ground. _Drip-drip.  
Drip-drip. _Ironic, wasn't it? If the can would be able to feel, would it feel the oil seep out of it?  
Like energy and life leaving battle-weary bones, scattering all remains of what was a human before to the wind, leaving an empty shell, with no life of its own…  
This time he wasn't able to suppress the shudder.

"Do you" he asked, swallowing before composing himself again "do you still remember their laughter, their voice?"  
Tycho, who had caught the meaning of Hobbie's words quickly, since he had had similar thoughts no two minutes ago, stood up and looked for a long, long time to the entrance of the hangar and the dark midnight sky.  
Hobbie almost thought he wasn't going to get an answer.

Tycho finally turned around again and looked at him, with eyes that had seen too much death.

"Yes, I do. My sister laughed a lot. I was always surprised how much she could laugh and how quickly she found something to be happy about. Sometimes I tried to shush her, for I felt embarrassed by her spontaneous outbursts. Now I only wish I could hear her laugh again and I regret all harsh words ever said in arguments."

"My sister used to laugh a lot as well" Hobbie whispered and Tycho had to strain his ears to understand his next words.

"She never took things seriously. Never. I was serious, whereas she was cheerful and out-going. …" Hobbie's eyes lost their focus.

"She had this kriffed heroic streak…wanted to support the local resistance movement…she knew she could confide in me…even if I was still supportive of the Empire and had not seen its true intentions then, I would have never said anything of it to anyone….yet I told her…told her that it was too dangerous… she wouldn't listen. She never listened to me. You see, she was still so young, not even sixteen…I was on leave…a proud and self-confident hotshot Academy pilot…she was so angry and she told me that she was able to take care of herself…"

* * *

"_Leave me alone, you idiot!"  
Trudie_'_s brown eyes blazed with anger. "I am capable of looking after myself quite well, thank you." He was quite shocked at her outburst._  
"_Tru, I am only trying to be a good brother."_

"_So? And do you think I need a brother? One day, we_'_ll get a note, stating We regret to inform you that Flight officer Derek Klivian was missed in action on our last assignment. He died as a loyal son of the empire_'_."_

"_Trudie…" _

_She continued, her voice shrill. " Then you_'_ll be somewhere in the universe, your remains scattered __everywhere __i__n little atoms . We_'_ll have no body to bury, no sorrow words to give.  
Mother will cry. I will too, and you, you_'_ll be no more, all because of your blasted heroic streak, fighting for a government, which is not even noble !"_

_He stared at her. "No, Trudie…"  
She turned abruptly on her heel, using her small frame as an advantage to push herself through the crowd.  
Her brother soon lost sight of her. "Trudie! Trudie! Come back!"_

* * *

"The next morning I had to depart early, since my leave was over…"

Hobbie paused and added softly: "I never got to tell her that I was sorry and that I loved her…she never got the chance to join the resistance however as well, since some weeks later Imperial intelligence agents disguised as merchants killed Mum… She had connections to the local rebel cell. Her being as a mother didn't allow her to do as much as she would have liked….but her position of an important local Imperial commander's wife….allowed her to know…certain things."

Hobbie continued, seemingly oblivious to his companion.  
"Mom…was dead immediately. Trudie …Trudie happened to be at the wrong place to the wrong time that day…"

Hobbie recalled his father's expression when he had informed his son of the tragedy.

His cold blue eyes had been neutral, of course, over the HoloNet it wasn't that easy to read a person's emotions, yet….  
Whilst his son had had a hard time maintaining his composure during their talk, his father had seemed nearly unfazed by it all.

Joshua Klivian was a strict man, always sticking to discipline and rules, no matter how questionable those orders were.  
He believed in the government, even if it was as visibly corrupt and repressive as the Empire.  
He had never been very close to his children, for he was rather detached and only strict when one of them didn't follow the rules in his house.

Hobbie's belief in the Empire had been shattered after that episode…he wasn't such a naïve fool to believe the children's tale of merchants, who had been frustrated because his mother didn't want to buy their goods and had followed her home…no, Hobbie had suddenly understood the little incidents over the years, when his mother was out and he had to look after his little sister, her secretive, yet fierce smile when she returned, with the knowledge of having done something for the Galaxy's freedom, her tears when he told her he wanted to sign up at the Imperial Academy and become a TIE pilot…

* * *

Tycho looked at him in gentle understanding and Hobbie realized for the first time, that he had said everything out loud.

He fought the blush that was rising to his cheeks to no avail.  
"I am sorry". He studied his boots, then looked finally up right in the other man's crystal blue eyes.  
"I shouldn't have bothered you with these boring old family tales."

Tycho smiled at him friendly. "You didn't bother me, Hobbie. Believe me, it's good to have it off your chest…" His eyes darkened and Hobbie knew that he remembered Alderaan, his beautiful home planet, which had been destroyed by the Empire.  
"When I comprehended who had destroyed Alderaan, loyal son of the Empire that I was, my whole world shattered in little pieces. As if…" his eyes closed momentarily " as if the light had suddenly been turned on, as if a veil was lifted from before my eyes…it felt as if my heart had suddenly stopped beating. I had never felt so clear before, when the initial shock wore off.  
It felt as if someone had dragged me by the collar to the water of some icy lake and dunked me in head-first." He frowned thoughtfully.

Both men were silent for a while, lost in their own little world.

"Back on Ralltiir" Hobbie said, reminiscing those quiet evenings  
"we had a custom called _Starry night- Sternennacht._ We remembered our loved ones in that night and planted little candles outside in the garden amidst the flowers. I vowed to do it some when now as well, since it's the week when it is celebrated on Ralltiir."

He glanced hesitantly at his Alderaanian friend.  
"Would you like to come with me?"  
"I would like that very much."

Hobbie smiled at him, glad to have some company.  
They went out of the base without getting questioned by anyone as to where they were going.

After some time of walking in the lush, green meadows, they reached a small hill.

The planet where they were stationed temporarily was beautiful, its climate mild; the days warm and the nights cool.  
Fireflies were in the air around them, some local animals somewhere made guttural sounds and the soft moonlight illuminated the pilots' faces.  
Frankly, it was a peaceful atmosphere, one seldom found in their daily fight to stay alive.

Hobbie took the candles out of his bag and planted them on the ground.  
He lit a match and soon all candles burned with a fierce flame.  
After a little while, the flames got higher and Tycho watched intrigued, never having seen such candles before.  
They sparkled and danced, some of them emitted coloured sparks: red, green, yellow and blue.

Their glow had a calming effect and Tycho found himself almost nodding off when suddenly a shape appeared in the flames.  
Tycho gasped softly, seeing the face of his long-dead mother looking back at him, her image dancing in the soft light of the candle.  
Nyiestra joined her, looking sadly at her former betrothed.  
"Are they real, Hobbie?" Tycho's voice wavered, but he managed to maintain his composure.  
"Yes and no, Tycho. Nobody has ever been able to understand the complexity of the _Sternennacht_ candles. Some say, the candles show those, who you desire to see in the depths of your heart…"  
He trailed off and his gaze wandered to the stars above.

"A wise woman told me once, everything is connected with the stars. She told me, that it was a miracle and she always laughed.  
The stars, she said to me, the stars have been there, when I wasn't even born, the stars will be there,when you, my boy, will be a grown man and the stars will be there when your children are old and you have long died...No matter what, you can rely on the stars.  
People die, speeders crash, buildings collapse…but the stars are there. Forever."

Tycho sat next to Hobbie in silence, remembering his father's words.  
"_If we are not there anymore for you one day, just remember to go on.  
Remember us and honour your memories, but do not dwell on times past.  
Do not spend your whole life thinking about those who you left behind, son."_

Sometimes Derek Klivian, Rebel Alliance pilot, liked to remember a single frost flower that had been on the window pane of his speeder on that fateful day on Hoth.

And if he happened to get a glimpse of the starry sky afterwards, he always smiled.

* * *

Tbc?


	3. Wes Janson: A Hobby and other obstacles

Disclaimer: The movie Star Wars and all mentioned characters, as well as the quotations belong only to Lucasfilm, Ltd. The quotation below belongs to Sir Francis Bacon.

That's my version of Wes's first meeting with Hobbie and his experiences during the battle of Yavin.

I hope you all like it. -Sachita

Thank you for the kind reviews,** Narya's Bane **and **TriGemini**. Hope you approve of this one as well.

* * *

_"In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present."_  
_ (Sir Francis Bacon, 1561-1626) _

_

* * *

_

**A Hobby and other obstacles**

* * *

_ Tanaab, sometime between 15/16 BBY **  
**_

_The little boy lightly fingered the fabric of his pullover.  
It was a beautiful pullover- he had gotten it to his sixth birthday, just yesterday.  
It was blue with yellow stars and spaceships on it._  
"_Mum, dad, when I am grown up I wanna be a pilot."_

Wes Janson grinned fondly, reliving those happy days once again.  
He could feel again the hot stone slabs in the kitchen under his bare feet, the intensive smell of summer outside and his mother lifting him up and dancing with him through the kitchen, singing a folksong.  
Everything had been so happy and carefree at the same time.  
If only he could experience such happy days again, but nowadays…

Wes snapped out of his reflective mood when he heard the captain's voice via ship-com, telling all passengers to get to their seats, because he would begin with the landing approach now.  
He and his companion were on a transporter to a planet, where they would be picked up by agents of the Rebel Alliance.  
A subtle glance around informed him, that many of the other passengers were pilots like himself and his companion, Jek Porkins.

Speaking of which…where was said companion?  
A loud noise diverted his attention again.

It wasn't hard to make out the people who were responsible for the noise, because now loud yelling could be heard and some people already formed a cluster around the noise-makers.  
Lying on his back with a dazed expression on the face, was his companion, Jek "Piggy" Porkins.

Wes sighed irritated, when he spotted the other pilot.  
_Well, it seems we can kill two birds with one stone._

A suitcase was lying next to him, apparently the other whoever-was-responsible-for-this-mess's one.  
Its contents were spilled on the floor. To make it short, it was a mess.  
Wes let his gaze wander further, to said suitcase owner.  
He gaped for a moment, when he saw him….or…**_her_?**

All the yelling came from a little old woman ,with yellow clothes, the kind of colour which offends the viewer, flaming red, short hair and an enraged expression firmly on her face.

She gestured like crazy, her arms making wild rotations and Wes found himself getting dizzy from the flurry of movements.

He decided to intervene, before she did something drastic to poor Piggy, who had sat up weakly.

"Excuse me , ma'am" he said politely

She stopped in her tirade and gave him a strict look. "Yes?"

"I would like to apologize for my companion here. He doesn't know how to behave around such charming and beautiful ladies like you are, I am afraid."

She stared at him, clearly surprised.

"I hope he didn't cause too much inconvenience, ma'am. He can be terribly clumsy."

Now her expression changed to something, that Wes guessed, was a smile.  
He shuddered upon seeing her sharp teeth. _Interesting species._

"Oh, everything is alright now, young man."

She smiled wider ( making Wes shudder even more) and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

" Oh thank you, my boy. It's not often that the young people nowadays are as polite and…" her gaze wandered over his muscular build "…handsome as you are."

Wes gulped. That was most certainly **not **what he wanted to hear from _that_ woman and he thought it more than a bit creepy.

"Ok, ma'am. Thanks. W-we have to… go now. Bye."

He dragged Porkins at his sleeve back to their seats.

The older pilot snickered. "She likes you, Wes."

Wes glared at him. "You know, you owe me one. I saved you."

Porkins continued:

"Oh- and the way she looked at you. You do have a really interesting choice in women, especially the older ones, who like…" he made an attempt to flutter his eyelashes just like the woman had done "…guys, who are as handsome as you."

Wes felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, shut up, you."

* * *

While busily shoving food in his mouth, Jek Porkins reflected on what had happened after Janson and he had arrived at the Rebel Base.  
They had both been with the Rebel Alliance for some years now- first in the Tierfon Yellow Aces, now in the newly-formed Red Squadron- and at the moment, rumours were traveling around the base, that they were going to fight against the monstrous space station created by the Empire, which was called the Death Star.

He snapped out of his thoughts, when he saw Wes freeze, his fork half-way to his mouth.  
"What is it…?" Porkins stopped and his insides turned to ice.

The other Rebel soldiers in the mess hall were suddenly silent as well.  
The large holonet screen in the corner had been activated and a pale-looking man adressed them. "Soldiers of the Alliance. Terrible news have reached us. Alderaan was destroyed.  
Destroyed by the Empire. We believe the Empire's new battle-station to be responsible, the Death Star. No-one survived…."

A picture from a moon-like, giant battle-station appeared on the screen.  
"This is the death star, a weapon so efficient and murderous like no weapon ever invented before. The Empire had just made itself guilty of a new crime of an indescribable size. Nothing can justify this..."

The man continued, but Wes didn't listen anymore.  
He looked at Piggy, who stared back at him, full of disbelief.  
Squashing the bread roll in his left hand without actually noticing it, Wes finally managed to whisper hoarsely after many agonizing minutes of silence:

"They will pay."

* * *

_One day before the battle of Yavin_

Wes felt his knees tremble under him, when he stumbled out of the bed.  
A taste of bile was in his mouth and why…why the hell was it so hot in here suddenly?

One of his room mates, a Corellian named Wedge Antilles, who was also one of his friends in the squadron, shot him a worried look.

"Wes, are you sure, you're alright?"

"Yes…sure." Wes weakly tried to smile.

He knew he was not, but there was no reason to worry Wedge and he wanted to fly with the squadron and kill the thing which had destroyed Alderaan.

He just needed to..to drink a bit of caff, just a bit and everything would be alright…it was just a passing sickness.  
_Yeah, keep telling that to yourself, Wes…_

"Ugh" he groaned, when his knees decided to prove him wrong and buckled under his weight.

Wedge steadied him and put a strong arm around his shoulders.

"So, Janson. That's it. I don't care, whether you want or don't want to, but you're going to the medcenter with me now. You're in no condition to fly, even a child could see that."

Too weak and too miserable to protest, Wes allowed Wedge to drag him through the base  
The Corellian chided him all the way why he hadn't gone to the medcenter earlier, but Wes knew that it was just his friend's way to show his concern for him.

Wes was barely able to keep his eyes open, when the doctor approached, but he was hopeful nonetheless.

"Flight officer Janson, you have a very bad case of a Hesken's fever.  
You will need several days to get your health back."

"Does that mean…" Wes asked weakly and drained, already knowing the answer to his question  
" …I can't fly with Red squadron tomorrow?"

The doctor looked at him with a blank expression.

" I am sorry. No. You would only endanger yourself and your squadron mates."

Wes closed his eyes and buried his head in the pillow, not even bothering to hide his devastation.  
Unsure of what to do, Wedge squeezed Janson's shoulder in a feeble attempt to comfort the other man.  
Wes glanced at him through heavy-lidded eyes:

"It's just…I want to be with you all when you fly up there. I want to help kill that thing and make sure all of us come back safely. "

He sighed heavily. Wedge nudged him:

"C'mon, Wes. Don't worry. We'll all be back in no time and then we'll all have some Corellian Whiskey and you're coming too, no matter what the doc says."

Wes smiled feebly: "Clear skies, Wedge. Be safe."

* * *

On the day of the battle he was nervous and jumpy.  
Red Squadron had just departed and he wasn't with them. When Jek and Wedge had come to say good-bye, they had also informed him, that Porkins would take Wes' place in the attack, since Wes was unable to do so.

He sighed and addressed the doctor for the fourth time that day with the same request.

"Please doc, let me go to the com center."

"I am afraid Flight officer, I can't allow you to go there. Your health…"

"I don't care! My friends are up there and are trying to kill that thing, whereas I am down here and can't do anything."

For a moment something like sympathy appeared in the doctor's weathered face and he sighed deeply.

"Fine. But I expect you to be back here, as soon as you feel the slightest dizziness."

Wes nodded and hurried to get to the com center, as quick as his weak legs allowed him.

* * *

Leia glanced up, when the door was opened.

_A pilot_ she thought, when she saw the short build of the man and the typical cocky swagger of fighter pilots, when he walked._  
I wonder why he isn't up there with the others?_

He came nearer and she could tell that he was unsure whether he should join them or not, so she decided to end his dilemma.  
Leia extended her hand and he shook it.

"I'm Leia Organa."

"I know, your highness. I've seen you before. My name is Wes Janson from Red squadron."

She looked at him, wondering how she could put what she wanted to ask in polite words.

As if he had read her thoughts, his dark green eyes smiled at her without any real humour." Had to stay here. I caught a fever some days ago."

He looked pale and young with his hair so tousled and Leia felt sorry for him.

She tried to comfort him. "Hey now. It's alright. You can't do anything against it."

Wes didn't look reassured, but at least he managed a small smile.

He closed his eyes and vainly willed the dizziness to go away.  
In the com center, Red Leader's calm voice, a clone-war veteran named Garvin Dreis, could be heard.

**_"Accelerate to attack speed."_**

_No,_ Wes cried inwardly, _this not right, I ought to be with them!_

He listened anxiously further, wincing when he heard Biggs asking whether Luke was alright.  
Wes hadn't met the kid yet , but from what he had heard Luke was a hotshot pilot and a nice guy, perhaps a bit naïve, with him being from Tatooine and never having been anywhere else in the galaxy and all that.

However, he and the Smuggler Han Solo, a Corellian, had saved the Princess from the clutches of the Empire, and like everyone in the Alliance, Wes was very grateful for that. Leia was their beacon of hope, their Princess, who remained strong even after what had happened to her home world and Wes, like many others, admired her a great deal.

He snapped out of his reverie to listen to the com chatter again.

Then, out of the blue, time seemed to stop for him. As if in a daze, he heard Jek's panicked voice:

**_"I've got a problem here."_**

_Eject, Piggy, eject!_ Wes cried inwardly and heard his thoughts being echoed by Biggs no two seconds later.

**_"Eject!"_**

Wes balled his hands to fists.

**_"I can hold it."_**

_The hell you can! Damnit, Jek, eject! _The Tanaabian thought and he felt his insides turn to jelly. Cold shivers ran down his spine. This was far worse than being up there himself, just having to listen to them, and not being able to do anything to help them.

Biggs sounded panicked now himself.**_"Pull up!"_**

Only a split second passed, but to Wes it seemed as if had been hours.

**_"NO, I'm all ri—" _** Piggy's reply was cut off by his scream and Wes didn't need to be up there to envision in perfect detail what had transpired. Jek, his best friend Jek, was dead.

Force, no, no, no….! No!

Happy scenes passed behind Wes' tightly closed eyes.

He remembered arriving at the base of the Tierfon Yellow Aces for the first time- it had been Jek who had shown him around, Jek who had helped him find his way around and Jek who had pushed a glass filled with Whyren's Reserve over to him after the first battle in which they had lost a Squadron Member: "Drink up, Kid. It helps."

He remembered a different Jek, wide-eyed after just having received a resounding slap from a girl. "No," he had said, "you did it all wrong, see, you have to start like that-" Some minutes later and Wes was the one holding his stinging cheek, while Jek was nearly on the floor in hysterical laughter.

He also remembered a solemn Jek, eyes sad as they sat in the mess hall, minutes after hearing of Alderaan's destruction. "You are right," Jek had replied to Wes' statement. "We will have our revenge."

And now he was dead. Dead, dead, dead.  
No more teasing because of old women, no more "saving-you-from-terrible-embarassing-situations", no more pranks, no exasperated Wedge- always Wedge, because he always showed the funniest reactions when pranked- yelling: "I'll get you, both of you, just wait!", no more…

Wes swallowed and tried to concentrate on the voices once more.

He felt dazed, almost as if it was unreal, as if he was sitting somewhere, watching a holovid.

One after one, his squadron mates died.

Then he heard Red leader's voice again, calm, as always, but he sounded incredibly tired.

**_"Stay there. I just lost my starboard engine. Get set to make your attack run."_**

Then there were the sounds of a X-Wing being blown apart.  
Wes closed his eyes again and shook his head.  
Soon after Luke had collected Wedge and Biggs and begun his run in the trench, after Wedge had been forced to pull out, urgent voices shook Wes out of his reverie again.

**_"Hurry, Luke, they're coming in much faster this time. I can't hold them!"_**

Please, not Biggs as well, not Biggs….

**_"Hurry up, Luke! Wait! Quick!"_**

Then Leia bit her lip again and Wes felt numb. Biggs was gone, lost, like so many other wonderful squadron mates already in that battle. At least Wedge was still alive.  
Wes didn't cheer with the others, when the battle was over and they had won.  
He didn't feel anything anymore. For him, all laughter had faded.

* * *

Some months later…

Luke looked unhappily over to Janson, who was giving their latest addition to the Rogues, Derek Klivian a glare, which could cleave trees in halves. The tall, sandy-haired pilot himself appeared to be uncomfortable under the force of Wes's glares, shifting in his chair and fidgeting with his flight suit

.  
Next to him Luke's XO, Wedge Antilles sighed. "Funny. I hadn't even thought him to be able to glare like that."

_Before Yavin,_ Luke silently added.

Out loud, he said: "He can't continue to behave like that. In battle, we have to rely on him and he has to rely on us, otherwise he can't fly with us anymore."

War was a dirty business and fighter pilots had to stick together in order to survive.  
Problems in a squadron were not to be taken lightly.  
_But back to the problem at hand…_Luke sighed and glanced again at Klivian.

Derek Klivian was a graduate of the Imperial Academy and had jumped ship back with Biggs, but he had been stationed elsewhere in the Alliance. Until now. Now he had joined Rogue Squadron and since he had been with them, Janson had acted nothing but hostile towards him, even if Klivian hadn't given him any reason to be like that. Luke suspected, that it had something to do with the fact that because of some happenings in his past, Wes had a stronger hate than most of them against Imperials or Ex-Imperials for that matter and the battle of Yavin had probably not improved his opinion of them.

_Probably._ Luke snorted inwardly. The understatement of the month.  
In such moments, he missed Biggs more than ever, his old friend would most certainly have come up with a creative solution for their problem.

Suddenly he had an idea. " I think, I have a solution."

"Yes?" Wedge looked at him expectantly, but Luke had already raised his voice.

"Flight officer Janson."

Wes looked up. "Yes, sir?"

"Flight officer Klivian will be your wing now."

Luke could tell, that Wes was less than pleased, but he couldn't object.

Instead, the pilot answered him somewhat dourly: "Yes, Commander Skywalker." Wingmen were very important. In a battle, you had to rely on him and normally, wingmen also spent a lot of time together, so they were usually friends.

Wedge looked surprised. "So that was your plan? There are two options: Either it is brilliant and your ego will grow a little bigger, if that's even possible, or we will all crash and burn."

"Hey" cried Luke, affronted. " I am no Corellian, I have no big ego."

"Yeah, right." Wedge said " And Han Solo does not just want to kill you for trying to help him repair the Falcon."

Luke's head whipped around. Sure enough, there was Han Solo, heading for him with a murderous expression on his face.

"Well, I have something to do. See you." Wedge waved, almost gleeful. Almost.

* * *

Wes was in a bad mood.  
Now he had Klivian on his hands. Luke had later also given him the order to tell Klivian everything about Red Squadron and the base, since Klivian had only been here for some days.  
That meant that he had to hang out with the guy even longer.  
Wes didn't really know what his problem with the other really was, still…  
He took a deep breath.  
Klivian had been really quiet throughout the whole explanations.

Hobbie stared at the other pilot. He wasn't sure what the other's problem really was, but when Janson addressed him as "So, Imp…" he really had enough,

In a fluid motion he had the other pinned to the ground. Janson tried to force Hobbie's hands away, but Hobbie held him in an iron grip and finally, the other stopped struggling and listened, his eyes blazing with fury.  
Hobbie didn't care, because he was boiling with anger, too.

"Listen. I don't know, what your problem is. If it is the fact, that I've attended the Imperial Academy, I have to tell you that I don't care.  
Some wake up early and see the Empire's true intentions before others and some never see them. While I admit that I belong to those who needed some time to see them , I did see them.  
Therefore that makes us no enemies, but allies and I don't know about you, but I have the opinion, that we should instead of being at war with each other, work together.  
I am not asking you to be my friend, but don't adress me as "Imp" anymore.  
I am not an Imp and I hate them too."

Red-faced, Hobbie let go of the other.

Wes sat up and looked at him, his anger vanishing as if it had never been there.

"That was quite a speech."

Klivian was right, and he had been the one to be wrong and even if it meant his pride would get a bruise, Wes had always been someone to admit a fault.  
He took a deep breath again. Even if he admitted it, it didn't mean, he had to like it.

"I am sorry—"

Klivian held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright" he said.  
Wes smiled faintly.  
Suddenly he jumped up, so quickly that Klivian winced.

"Hey, you're my wingman now, right?"

"Right" the other said warily.

"Well, since we have to stick together, you can help me."

"With what?"

"A prank."

"A prank?"

"Yeah." Wes replied. "Someone has to improve the morale here. It's been far too gloomy."

Hobbie stared at him blankly.

"Well, that's probably good. People are better prepared for the many disappointments like that."

Now it was Wes' turn to stare. "Huh…which disappointments are you specifically talking about?"

"Well…life's ones."

Wes chuckled. "Are you always that pessimistic ?"

* * *

A bemused Wedge Antilles stared at a soaked Luke Skywalker.

"Do I want to know?"

They walked out of the door and a second bucket of water cut Luke's attempt to answer off.

"Forget that I asked."

Wedge grumbled and wiped wet black strands of hair from his eyes.

"Why did I ever wish Janson back to normal?"

Luke coughed and shook the water out of his clothes like a poodle, spraying the other Rogues, who were just on their way to the sims.

Zev Senesca was the first to break the stunned silence. "Uh, sir.."

The other Rogues, who roared with laughter, cut him off.

A stunned Luke stared at an equally stunned Wedge and they both burst in laughter.

"Weees!"

* * *

Catching their breath, Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian leaned against a wall.

"Did you…did you see their faces?"

"Oh yeah." Hobbie schooled his mournful faces in a hilarious expression, so Wes burst in fresh peals of laughter and needed some time to compose himself.

Then he extended his hand to the other pilot

"Wes Janson, pleased to meet you."

Hobbie took the offered hand. "Derek Klivian, the same."

Unspoken the word _friends _ hovered between them.

Breaking the serious silence was Wes.

"You need another name. A real name."

"Derek is a real name" Hobbie protested.  
"Yes, but it's not a real _real_ name."

"Oh. Friends call me Hobbie."

"What kind of name is that?"

"Maybe it's really a _real_ name, like you said, in your book."

Wes nodded. "It fits you. Hobbie. It's crazy."

Hobbie made a face: "I am crazy?"

Wes grinned. "Yes, yes you are. Which is why we fit that good together. Now come, Mr. Pessimism,let's go scare Wedge and Luke."

Hobbie had the grace to look mournful. "What did I ever do to deserve that?"

Wes smiled back at him merrily: "That's what they all say. You met me, I guess. Now come- or do you want to strike roots here?"

Hobbie laughed and ran ahead. "Don't tell me you can't outrun an Ex-Imp, Janson!"

_Well_, Wes mused, while chasing after Hobbie, _life really has a crazy way sometimes.  
You lose friends and no matter how much it hurts, you also gain new ones on the way. I think, everything will just turn out fine and I doubt, we will ever experience any boredom with Rogue Squadron…when will Wedge get his first grey hair?_

_

* * *

_

-fin-


	4. Wedge Antilles: Dancing in the dark

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_Thank you very much for your reviews. I love getting them (-;! This chapter is just a little one- it's very short and it's again about Wedge Antilles- but I hope you like it nevertheless.- Sachita _

**_

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_**

**_  
"Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it a meaning."_**

**_Dancing in the dark_**

He couldn't see her face, but he knew she was there, she who had always kept him from falling over the edge. She was always there, when he needed her- in all the troubles his life brought, in the war, the pain and the tears, she was there: his bridge, his sanctuary, his love. Soft music started to play. It rolled over him, like waves in an ocean.

"Where are you?"

"I am right here."

She took his hand in hers- slim fingers touched his skin.

"Why do you like the dark so much?"

"Oh it gives me plenty of options- what I could possibly do with you without you noticing it."

Wedge shuddered, when she whispered these words.

"You can still get to me, after all these years."

Her laughter sounded like a thousand bells jingling in his ears.

He could almost see her blue eyes shine with merriment.

"I like the dark too, you know."

"Why do you like it then?"

"You can't see me behaving like an awkward fool in your beautiful presence."

"Oh…but I can still hear you. That's almost as bad."

"Thank you, my dear."

"Always for you."

"Shall we dance, my Lady?"

"If you ask so gallantly, Sir knight, we shall…"

He put his hands on her waist, feeling the silky material of her dress under his fingers.

"I love dancing in the dark with you, flyboy."

"I am always dancing in the dark with you, love."

"I am not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted."

"Only the best for you, my dear."

"Your compliments are ambigous, as always. I like it.  
Normality has returned finally."

"Not fair. I am only trying to be a gentleman."

"Your compliments are as gentlemanlike as a dancing Ewok."

A whisper. "That's why I love you so much."

"Me too. I love you."

She stopped dancing and he looked at her dark silhouette, confused.

"What do you want do dance now?"

"Wedge…"

"Yes?"

"Shut up and let me kiss you already. "

"Copy that, Madam. "

"Wedge, shut up. "

"Wha…"

* * *

Tbc? 


	5. Tycho Celchu: Perfection or Shards

_Thank you,** TriGemini **for your review. This chapter is Tycho's part, I hope you all like it. Sachita (-;  
Disclaimer:The quote belongs to Bob Marley (1945-1981) and everything you recognize, belongs to Lucasfilm Ltd._  
_P.S.: I apologize for any wr__ong grammar or false spelling (or words). English isn't my first language, so it's hard sometimes (-;_**_  
_**

* * *

_"The good times of today, are the sad thoughts of tomorrow." _

* * *

**_Perfection (Shards)_**

The lady, who was sitting at the bar, was still young and might have seen about twenty summers.  
Her dark red year was tied back in an elegant braid and her blue eyes sparkled in the light of a lamp. Many young men watched her every move, as did the man in the corner, but while the first group had quite obvious reasons for doing so, the man was lost in thoughts of another kind.  
He watched her decline charming and impolite invitations, until a clean-shaven young man arrived, who took her hand and left the crowd with her in tow.  
The man watched silently over the rim of his ale glass, but his blue eyes were far away in deep thought.

Hadn't he been like that once?  
Striving for perfection- always trying to prove to the others that he was capable of fulfilling their expectations- yes…and thinking that he could take the world on alone?  
You couldn't call the man old- no, he was most likely not past his early thirties and quite good-looking with fine light brown hair and almost penetrating blue eyes.  
But it was the look in those eyes that made the observer take a second look. If the young man's eyes had been full of confidence and self-assurance, the older man's eyes were full of shadows and dark truths.

Tycho Celchu sadly shook his head, paid his drink and left.  
For a second, all eyes were on him, but a few moments later they had all returned to their drinks, forgetting about the haunted eyes and their owner.

* * *

Tycho wandered aimlessly through Coruscant's dark streets.  
He wondered why the useful side effects of the alcohol weren't starting to show themselves yet.

He had downed at least two Alderaanian ales and some Whyren's Reserves, but no pleasant drunken haze and no loss of his situational awareness threatened to overwhelm him.  
Instead, he felt clearer than ever.  
_Why couldn't he just forget?_  
Hadn't he tried everything today?  
Wedge had wanted to give him leave today, but Tycho had refused.  
Wedge had argued that pushing away the memories and feelings by burying himself in work wouldn't help him.  
Then Tycho had snapped and had yelled at his commander- at his best friend- that he was perfectly capable of coping with his emotions on his own.

Tycho was ashamed. Now, sitting here on the park bench, where his lonely path had taken him he knew that he had probably hurt Wedge with his words.  
Wedge had looked shocked and hurt for the split of a second, but then he had ordered Tycho with a calm voice while everyone else in the hangar had been watching open-mouthed to take leave for the rest of the day.  
That had been in the late afternoon.  
Now, it was late in the evening and Tycho was still outside.

He had tried to work hard, so he would forget, he had tried to drown himself in alcohol, so he would forget- but it hadn't truth was, he reflected miserably as he sat there on the park bench that he was only inches away from breaking down completely.  
The truth was, that every time he saw the letter "A" somewhere, his mind would form the letters "lderaan" and he would be all shaken up again. The truth was, that Wedge had been right.

He had lost, completely lost the control over his flying, and was now tumbling down from the sky, falling- and crashing.  
Had it really been ten years now?  
Mia would be 33, perhaps married with a bunch of little kids, who would ride on his shoulders: "Quicker, uncle Tycho! Quicker!", and he would obey laughingly…  
Skoloc would be in his mid-twenties, a well-mannered, handsome guy, who would be loved by the women and cursed by the other young men…  
Perhaps he would proudly present his latest invention, which would help Mum clean the stairs, because her knees had gotten worse… or he would be a great man in the ship building business. After all, he had always liked to tinker with robots and ships.

Or would he, Tycho, still be an Imperial if they all had survived?If it all hadn't happened?  
He wasn't sure, but even the vision scared him. Would he now proudly stand at attention while Captain bars would be fastened onto his grey uniform? Would he have ever met Wedge, Wes, Hobbie-again- and Corran- and if so, only as their enemy? For a moment he could see himself, holding a blaster pistol to Wedge's head and condemning him as "rebel scum". A pained sound escaped him and he pressed his fists in his eyes, for he knew that if Alderaan hadn't happened, he might have very well been there.

So many whys and ifs…

He would most likely get cake sent from his mother to his posts, if she were still alive.  
She had always made the best cake.  
But-had it really been a taste of his almonds on his tongue whenever he had eaten it?  
Hadn't she always used hazelnuts for the dough?  
Or had she…?

Tycho tried to recall that particular taste on his tongue, but he failed.  
The loving words, which she had always sent with the cake together with the latest holo of the whole family- yes, he remembered those.  
But her cake- how could he have forgotten how she had used to make it?  
It was silly, really, to be that upset about a plain cake's ingredients, but Tycho felt in that moment as if he had forgotten a vital piece of his life.

Why couldn't he remember? It was the same, sometimes, with his memories of them.

As the years went by he had noticed that they faded in his head like old holos.  
Irrational anger bubbled up in him, only to dissolve in an old, continuous dull pain.  
Why them? Why Alderaan?  
They had been so peaceful- so amicable.

A great Alderaanian philosopher, whom Tycho had admired when he had been younger, had once voiced his doubts about Alderaan's pacifism:  
"Pacifism is a great achievement, that is true. But is it a good idea for a sheep to come out of its hiding, when it is surrounded by wolves? Won't they laugh at its show of innocence and rip its heart out? In other words: Is it wise for us to disarm, when all the other planets haven't and won't ever do so? Is it good to be a pioneer in that case? Isn't this disarmament a stab in our own back?"

As far as Tycho knew, the philosopher hadn't been there, when it had… when it had happened.  
He would most certainly not feel any satisfaction now- upon seeing that he had been right.  
But even if they had had weapons, they couldn't have defended themselves.  
Tycho chuckled miserably, when he realized that and without any real mirth.

But why couldn't he remember now how the cake had tasted?  
When had he forgotten?  
Now he would never taste it again. Tycho felt inexplicably sad about that.  
Never would he receive such a warm letter from Mum again, never see Nyiestra laugh again…and Skoloc, Mia, Dad ,Ryan, Sintar…the old shack, where they had played hide-and-seek. Never see beautiful, beautiful Aldera again…never walk on the golden shores again, never feel the sea breeze in his hair again. Never again.

Home- home was lost for him. And it hurt, hurt,hurt.

Green meadows, a child's fresh laughter, a father's voice shouting: "Now where are you hiding, little rascal? Mum's upset about the cake!" And quieter: "However, I can understand you. It really tastes wonderful!"  
Falling in the lake, because Skoloc had pushed him, weaving floral wreaths for Mia, wild laughter, lonely tears caused by his first heartbreak in his room, Grandmother, Grandfather's tales, brawling with Billy because he had insulted Mia's braids…the forest, where had sat for hours, enjoying the sun while laying on the rooftop, the first girl he'd ever dated: she had had blue eyes and brown hair with a lot of freckles on the nose, and her hair had always gotten in his mouth when he had kissed her;  
a sunset at the lake, riding on wild cows, sea, lake, sunset, siblings, ice cream, flying, stars, a hammock between two trees, butterflies…he couldn't take it anymore.

What finally made him lose it, was the big news speeder that flew over Coruscant's dark sky. Over a loud speaker, a voice announced:**  
"Today, 10 years ago, the planet Alderaan was destroyed by the Empire. Let us all remember the dead and honour their memories…"**  
A holocam showed the beautiful blue planet and the Death Star from the perspective of a TIE's camera.  
Green beams gathered at one point and hit the planet. Tycho couldn't move. He watched the beam hit the planet and it shattered in a thousand pieces. Mia, Mum, Skoloc, Dad, Nyiestra…  
_The power of the beam had overloaded the planet's own shield._  
Tycho sagged down on the bench, broken.  
The voice continued: **"Well, we have a specialist here. Mister Fand, what's your opinion…"**  
Then, the speeder disappeared behind some skyscrapers.

Tycho felt a scream build up somewhere in his stomach and finally break free, until his throat was raw and sore from screaming – and then the tears came in quiet rivulets. Everything around him was just a blur of tears and salt- and somewhere, deep inside, where he had still some control left, he wondered how odd it must look for anybody, who happened to pass by, to see this normally so composed man sit there on the bench and sob for his mother like a little lost boy.

_Get some control over yourself, flight officer!_

The voice sounded remarkably like his former flying instructor at the Academy, Soontir Fel.  
But Tycho couldn't- wouldn't! obey and so he just sat there, shoulders heaving with muffled sobs and tears falling freely. He drew the knees to his chest and buried his head in them.

Then he realized that he must have nodded off, because he found himself suddenly to be standing in the kitchen next to his mother. He looked around in wonder, seeing the holo of the whole family hang at its usual place, where he had last seen it, when he had been home.  
Still shaken, he whipped his head around, when he heard his mother talking to him.

"…so, since you are leaving for the Academy tomorrow, I have made your favorite cake for your 18th lifeday already now."  
He heard his own voice, which sounded a great deal younger than now, reply: "Thank you, Mum." Tycho turned around slowly- and was met with the sight of himself, as a 17-years-old.  
Slowly, he started to understand. It was nothing but a memory, one that he couldn't recall properly, but he remembered that day.  
It felt weird, watching his younger self interact with his mother- almost as if he was stuck in a holovideo, where one of the main characters was himself.  
"Da-da-da." His mother presented the cake with a flourish and the older Tycho grinned absentmindedly, noticing his younger self mimic his expression. His mother had always liked to act a little bit dramatic.

All that, the whole memory felt that real to him, as if he was not just reliving it again, but actually experiencing it now, in that moment.  
_It's just a memory._ Tycho pushed the nagging voice to the back of his mind.  
_**Well, even if it is, it doesn't mean, that I can't enjoy it!**_

While his mother was busy lighting the candles on the table, Tycho walked closer to his younger self and looked at the young soon-to-be-cadet.

He couldn't comprehend how he could have ever been so keen on attending the Imperial Academy and support the Empire.  
Even the thought of the Empire made him feel sick right now.

But…looking again in the eyes of his younger self, he discovered the same look that had been present in the young man's eyes in the bar today.  
It was recklessness, mixed with the unconscious knowledge of having a perfect life- which he had thought to be indestructible.  
He had had the perfect fiancée- Nyiestra, his angel with the red locks and the laughing eyes; as well as the perfect home- a loving father and a caring mother.  
It had also been a perfect home world- oh, when Tycho compared it to other pilots and comrades' home-worlds, it had been a green, lush paradise.

Perhaps perfection was something that wasn't meant to last.  
So who was he to ask for this perfection to return?  
Perhaps it was had been meant to happen like that, even if Tycho found that hard to believe.  
Maybe he was just selfish for asking: "Why me? Why me out of all people?"

But who was he to judge destiny? Others had had it rough as well; Wedge has lost his parents, when their fuel station, had been blown up by pirates who had wanted to escape the Corellian Security and took off without disconnecting the lines first.  
Hobbie didn't like to talk about his life on Ralltiir , but what Tycho had found out once was that both his mother and his sister had been killed by the Empire.  
Wes- well, Tycho didn't know much about his earlier life, just that he was from Tanaab and had joined the Tierfon Yellow Aces. He probably didn't want to talk about it- they all didn't like to talk about it- but today…

Tycho gulped. _At least they have some relatives or old school friends left somewhere in the galaxy , or can go home._

Angrily he pushed the voice aside, feeling terribly selfish, but he couldn't do it completely, not now, not here, not today…  
Quickly he concentrated on the memory again.

Skoloc came skipping into the kitchen and his mother ruffled his light blond hair. Dark blue eyes twinkled excitedly and Skoloc jumped up to give his big brother a hug."Happy Lifeday, Tycho! Happy Lifeday!"  
The younger Tycho flashed him a grin. "But my lifeday is not until two days."  
"Yeah, but Mum is making "the" cake and cake means lifeday. So, you'll get my lifeday present now already."  
"What is it?" Skoloc presented him a holo, identical to the one in the kitchen.  
"How did you get the holo down from the wall to make a copy of it?"  
His mother put her hands on her hips.

Skoloc shrugged sheepishly. "Well, you see, I took a chair and…"  
Johanna Celchu glared at him. "You could have asked Dad or me. It's hanging too high up there. The cupboard could have fallen on you. You could have fallen down and broken your leg…"

The younger Tycho interrupted: "Yeah, and he could have also been hit by a speeder, which came flying through the window…"  
Skoloc started to snicker and the silent watcher grinned as well.  
Johanna actually looked thoughtful. "Well, I don't think that's possible…"

Tycho grinned. _If only you knew, Mum._ He wondered what his Mum would have said to him, if she had ever found out, what he had become in the course of the years.  
This thought quickly wiped the grin off his face. _She wouldn't approve._  
His mother had always supported the idea of pacifism and she had been very hurt when he had informed his parents of his decision to sign up at the Academy.  
Or would she be proud of him? Tycho doubted, that there was anything to be proud of now in her eyes. He had probably killed more people in the course of this war than he would ever want to know himself.  
For the split of a second he was glad, that she would never know what her son had done.

"Thanks, Skoloc." His younger self laughed and grabbed the little brother, lifting him up in the air. Skoloc squealed and laughed.  
"Yes, thanks, Skol…" Tycho murmured, somehow feeling oddly glad to be able to hear his own voice here. Now.  
Skoloc began to bounce up and down. "Did you make the chocolate cake with almonds, Mum?" "Yes."

She laughed. "Don't worry, you little _Ninra, _you'll get a piece of it as well_."_  
Ninra was an old Alderaanian word for someone who could eat whole speederloads of food.  
Tycho smiled. His mother had always complained, that the whole family consisted of Ninras, except for her, Grandmother and Mia.

"Oh yeah!" Skoloc began to dance with glee, almost knocking Mia over, who was entering the kitchen. "Ouch, you little _Taeyer_!"  
"Mum- she just insulted me! I am not the house dragon. She is. Dragons are female."

Tycho laughed and was trying hard to discover the difference between Skoloc and a certain pilot.  
It felt almost natural now, being here, watching them, almost as if he had never left…

His mother smiled gently. "Now, you two, stop it. Skoloc, the first piece is Tycho's, but you'll get one as well, if you can answer me a question."

"Yes, yes, anything!"

"Why is this cake heart-shaped?"  
"Oh-I know…It's heart-shaped, because we are one big family and we all live in each other's hearts, even if we're far away. So, Dad lives in my heart, and Mum lives in Dad's heart, and Mum lives in Tych's heart and in Mia's and in my heart, and I live in Mia's heart, and Tych lives in my heart, and Mia lives in Tych's heart and Mia lives in my heart, and…"

"Enough, Skoloc, enough."

_My dear, dear brother. What would you have become, if you had ever had the chance, to live your life to the fullest?"_

"Oh, but Mia?" "Yeah?"She glanced at her little brother, bemused.  
"Don't hang your undergarments out, when you're living in my heart, will you? That's embarrassing."  
Mia blushed and poked him hard in the shoulder, but she was laughing.

_And you, my beautiful sister. What would your life have been like?_

"Yes" his mother said,"but what Skoloc said was true. We're all in each others hearts. Even if we're all far away."  
Then she looked straight at Tycho, not at the younger one, but at him.

"Mum?" he asked uncertainly. He thought to see a smile on her face.  
"Mum!" Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain explode in his back and he woke up.  
He had fallen from the park bench and was now sitting on the ground.  
Tycho stood up and brushed the dirt from his clothes.

He felt oddly relieved- oh, of course, it would never be alright- but nevertheless, he felt much better. But now the two ales and the couple of Whiskeys he had had were starting to take their toll on him.  
He held his head in his hands and moaned quietly.  
The bush nearby was swaying. Or….was it him?  
...Sithspawn.

* * *

Wedge Antilles was fast asleep in his bed, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Sometimes he would reach up in his sleep and push it out of his eyes.  
Suddenly, it knocked. Wedge didn't wake up at first, but when it knocked again he blinked blearily and risked a look at the chrono.

"3 am in the morning. Sith, who wants to be my enemy?"  
He stood up and put his bathrobe on.  
Yawning, he shuffled to the door and opened it.

"Tycho! Are you okay?"

It was really Tycho, but he looked terrible, even worse than in the afternoon.  
He had dark rings under his blue eyes, which were brighter than normal and his light brown hair was tousled, so unlike his usual neat self. He also seemed to sway a little bit against the door frame.

"Listen, Wedge. I'm sorry to disturb you now, but I wanted to apologize. For…for earlier. For snapping at you like-like I did."  
Wedge was relieved, that Tycho was back to his normal calm self, but still…  
"And you're telling me that now at 3 am in the morning?"  
Tycho waved his hand vaguely. "You-you never know, what happens tomorrow. If-if one is still there."  
If Wedge had been concerned before, now he was very worried.

A sharp lump formed in his throat, and he cursed the Empire for having done so much evil to his friends. He pulled Tycho in his room and left his hands on the other's arms, trying to comfort him with that gesture.  
"Why is it so bad this year?"  
Tycho chuckled humorlessly and Wedge noticed again the slur to his words.  
"Dunno. You see, they used to celebrate the spring festival around this time of the year. Every five years. Lots of ale. Lots of laughter and fun. You would have liked it, I am sure.I only got to do it three times. And now-" his eyes lost their focus "they're all dead. Dead."

Tycho's words were getting more and more slurred, and Wedge had trouble understanding him.  
"How much did you have to drink?"  
"Tried to drown it in alcohol. Didn't work."

Wedge didn't want to say something like "I am sorry" because it just wouldn't have felt adequate.  
Therefore, he pulled Tycho closer and hugged him tightly.  
The Alderaanian didn't stiffen or pull away after a short time, like he sometimes did- Alderaanians were sometimes a bit reserved about the open show of feelings.  
He rather seemed to return the embrace and something between a choked laugh and a sob escaped him. When Wedge heard that sound, he ran a comforting hand down Tycho's back and hugged him even closer.

When Wedge released him, Tycho swayed again a little bit.  
Tycho yawned and Wedge smiled grimly. _He will have quite the hangover tomorrow._  
When they had finally arrived at Tycho's room, Tycho was leaning heavily onto Wedge and the latter was glad that the Sims weren't early in the morning.

Tycho managed to change and was soon laying in his bed, drained and exhausted, yet somehow feeling better.  
"You're going to be alright?" he heard Wedge ask.  
"Yes" he murmured and he meant it.  
"Night, Wedge. And thanks."  
"Good night, Tycho." Wedge switched the lights off and Tycho closed his eyes, feeling drowsy. Despite being almost asleep he could have sworn, that he heard Wedge quietly return and pull the covers over him, then leave silently.

Tycho smiled and thought that soon it would be another day for defeating the New Republic's enemies.

For freedom. For Alderaan.

* * *

_Tbc? _


	6. The fab four :Moments like these

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_Disclaimer: Nothing that you recognize belongs to me. It's all the property of Lucasfilm Ltd.  
_

_This is part one of a light-hearted (though not always) story about the Rogues (in this case the Fabular Four: Wes Janson, Tycho Celchu, Wedge Antilles and Hobbie Klivian) going on holidays together. I hope you like it...(-; -Sachita _

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**"True friends are the ones you can talk with, laugh with and have fun with. But you can also turn to them in dark times and they will help you. Even if they die, they'll always be with you: in your heart."**

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**_ Moments like these: 1/3_**

* * *

_**++Part One: Whatever you say, Wes++**  
_

_A single X-Wing chased a TIE Interceptor, with an eyeball on the X-Wing's tail.  
The X-Wing's pilot was obviously far too focussed on the Interceptor to realise that he was in immediate danger.  
The TIE behind the X-Wing used that to its advantage and fired at the X-Wing with green laser beams.  
The X-Wing, now visibly with less manoeuvrability than before, sluggishly avoided the TIE by making a sharp turn downwards.  
The chased TIE Interceptor had turned around now too, and made the predator to a prey.  
The already damaged fighter didn't stand a chance.  
In the combined fire of both the squint and the eyeball, the X-Wing finally exploded in a fire ball.  
_

* * *

Commander Wedge Antilles switched the holoprojector off and levelled a strict stare at Gavin Darklighter.  
"You're lucky, that this was only the Simulator, Flight officer Darklighter."  
Under Wedge's hard glare, Gavin shrunk in his seat. "Yes, sir."  
"You have to pay attention to your surroundings. Imagine being that inattentive in real combat!  
You were too focussed on that Interceptor."  
"Yes, sir." Gavin stared on the tabletop. " I will, sir. I am sorry, sir."  
Tycho shook his head. Wedge had been like that for the last two weeks or so, strict and severe, harsh even.  
Gavin looked really shaken by now, but Wedge kept on lecturing him. 

Tycho cleared his throat and Wedge gave him a cursory glance.  
"Yes, Captain Celchu?"  
" I was wondering, sir, whether you could give us more details to our mission tomorrow.  
For instance, which transport will we be using to get to that planet ?"  
Gavin slumped in his seat out of relief and the glance that Wedge gave Tycho showed the Alderaanian, that the other had clearly recognized the question as the distraction that it was.  
Nevertheless, Wedge addressed the issue.  
"We will be transported on the Star Destroyer _Liberty_ with Captain Teyard…"  
After the briefing, Tycho stayed in his seat, while the other pilots slowly left the briefing room.

Wedge collected his datacards and looked only up,when Tycho stood next to him."Yeah?" he asked wearily.  
Tycho surveyed his friend, saw the dark rings under his eyes, noticed the unhealthy, greyish tinge to his tanned skin.  
When Wedge also started to sway a little out of weariness, Tycho had enough.  
"Damn it, Wedge. Stop wearing yourself out. We will manage this mission, you know."

Exhausted brown eyes met Tycho's own crystal blue ones."I simply want everyone to be prepared for it."  
Tycho regarded him intently.  
"I know, that, Wedge. Wes and Hobbie do. Gavin does, too. We all do. But" he shook his head "you won't be of any use Wedge, if you exhaust yourself like that.Look at you. You look like your own ghost. I bet you sleep too less. Stop it, Wedge. Please. "  
Tycho's concern for his friend and commander only grew, when Wedge slumped back in his seat, as if his legs wouldn't carry him anymore.

Wedge's voice was so quiet, when he replied, that Tycho had to lean closer to understand him."I know. It's just…" he paused, then it burst out of him " three of us vaped in the last time.  
That's too much, Tych. Far too much. There is no kriffing way I can accept that."  
He shook his head and watched his fingertips. His voice got even quieter.  
" I feel like I am sending them to their deaths. As if I am responsible for them dying …they were all still so young, barely over twenty. And every time, I ask myself: am I fit for the job? Am I making the wrong decisions? …Am I sending them to their deaths, because I overlooked something in my plans…?"  
Wedge watched his hands and avoided looking Tycho in the eyes.

Tycho was surprised by the amount of Wedge's insecurity.He knew Wedge wore himself out every time they lost a Rogue, and that was something they all did, that was also something every commander did, but Wedge blamed himself for it, was of the opinion, that he ought to have done something, even if there was nothing he_ could _have done. He put his hands on Wedge's shoulders and Wedge looked up to meet his second-in-command's eyes.

"Listen to me, Wedge. Closely. You are not, and I repeat, not responsible for their deaths.By choosing to be a fighter pilot these youngsters chose their own fate, too.  
They knew the odds, that they would be dead before reaching their thirtieth birthday were high.  
. But that's a risk they were willing to take. That's a risk we are and were all willing to take.  
It's a terrible thing, that all these young men and women didn't get the chance to live their lives to the fullest, _but we must honour their memories_" here his father's voice overlaid his own for a few seconds in his thoughts when he told Wedge the same words Patrick Celchu had once told his son "_by not dwelling on the past_, but going on and fighting for what they would have fought, too. It's hard, but it's life. Wedge, you care for us. We know it.We all do. We know how often you go over your tactical plans, over and over again. You do everything you can. You're the best friend a man could wish to have and you're the best commander I have ever flown under. And by beating yourself up you do us and yourself no favour."

He drew Wedge to him, felt the slightly younger man relax shortly in his embrace, then Tycho released him and regarded him seriously again."Get some rest, boss."  
Wedge nodded tiredly: "I will.Good night, Tycho."  
With a last glance back to the commander of Rogue Squadron, who was already collecting his scattered datapads again, Tycho left the room, knowing that there was nothing else he could do. Wedge wouldn't get some rest, probably. He would find some work that _had_ to be done- or so he claimed- and would stay up late again.

* * *

Early in the next morning, Tycho Celchu made his way towards the Mess hall.  
Officially, he wasn't obligated to get up for another hour, if he wanted to be punctual  
to the morning simulator runs and go to the mess hall before, but he had some work that needed to be done and if the Imperial Academy had taught him one thing, it was getting up early.  
The mess was relatively empty, except for some mechanics, some A-wing pilots and two familiar faces. 

Tycho put his tray down on their table and took a seat opposite of them."Good morning you two."  
Wes Janson stifled a yawn: "Morning, Tych."  
Tycho grinned slightly: " I had no idea you enjoy getting up that early."  
Wes shot the man sitting next to him a glare. "I don't. Hobbie forced me to do so."  
Hobbie Klivian smirked and held up his hands in a defensive posture.  
"Did not, Wes. Getting up early is healthy, you know. Besides you said, you wanted to talk to Tycho here, when Wedge's not around, and the only opportunity to catch him alone is in the mornings."

Tycho cautiously set his cup of Alderaanian cherry tea on the table and looked at the two conspirators."What are you two up to?"  
Wes looked quite serious suddenly.  
"We have all noticed Wedge exhausting himself over tons of work in the last weeks, haven't we?"  
Hobbie added: "So, we got that idea."  
_Oh no, _was Tycho's first thought.  
When Tycho made an averting gesture and wanted to start talking, Hobbie cut him off hastily.  
"No, wait before you say something. We have a leave for two weeks coming up, haven't we?  
Tycho nodded.  
"Well, we thought we could go on vacations together. Somewhere, where no strange things can happen, where we won't have to save worlds again or bail someone out of dangerous situations. A world without any significant military… "  
"..where you can relax." Wes ended his sentence and slid a data card over the table to Tycho.

Tycho didn't reply to anything what the two pilots had said, just started to study the datapad.  
Wes and Hobbie exchanged an uncomfortable glance- it was always hard to tell what Tycho thought, so they hadn't the slightest idea whether he approved or not.  
Tycho meanwhile looked through the information.

_Moream. A world with lush vegetation, vast stepps and warm climate, but also a planet with high, snowy mountains. _

He read on, finally coming to a paragraph that made him choke on his sandwich.  
When Tycho got a coughing fit, Hobbie quickly sprang up and thumped his back.  
"Th-thanks." Red-faced, the Alderaanian stared again at the line, he had just read.

_T__he occupants of the world like to stay hidden. The favourite meal of said occupants, which are big deer-like creatures with blue eyes and orange fur with green stripes are armours, namely those of Stormtroops."_

Hobbie shrugged. "Guess we know now, why the Empire chose to avoid establishing bigger bases on that planet."  
Tycho gave him an incredulous stare: "And you want us to go there?"  
Wes chimed in merrily: "Hey, relax. We aren't Stormies, are we? Besides", he added thoughtfully "we are not Ewoks either."  
Hobbie looked him over mournfully. "Wes, trust me.You don't want to have an honest answer in your case."

* * *

It had been a exhausting two weeks until their leave was up and they were all tired and had had enough.  
Wedge didn't look much better than on the occasion, when Tycho had spoken to him about him wearing himself out, apparently he hadn't followed Tycho's advice.  
_Leave it to Wedge to be as hard-headed and stubborn like a nerf sometimes._

"Alright, Rogues" Wedge spoke up.  
"You have two weeks leave as from tomorrow morning. Just be available, when called because of an emergency situation."  
"So, in other words the usual, huh, Wedge?"  
Wedge didn't even acknowledge Wes's comment.  
"So, have a good time. Just don't try to destroy any bars" here a pointed glare to Janson,  
"or do anything like crashing your fighter-" this time all of them looked at Hobbie, who stared at them confused: "What?"-  
"and whatever it is, remember, I don't want to know about it."  
Corran stretched lazily.  
"Yeah, yeah, Wedge, you tell us that again, when you hear we've finally managed to poison a whole planet with that caff recipe you gave us."

Hobbie gave him something, that was almost a smirk.  
"What about that Jedi thing, Horn? I thought, Luke told us once: _There is no emotion, there is peace_…´"  
Corran gave him a lopsided grin. "Yes, but at the moment, I am not a Jedi, but a Rogue on leave."  
"Alright, leave it, you two",  
interrupted Tycho, who saw that Wedge was already looking worn out again.  
Hobbie gave him a slightly sheepish glance.

Wedge shook his head. "We see each other in two weeks, Rogues."  
"Yes, sir" could be heard, and one by one, the Rogues were on their way out, saluting Wedge, as they passed him.  
The only ones who stayed were Tycho, Wes and Hobbie

Wedge didn't notice them as first. He just sighed heavily and dropped back in his chair.  
"Now what about these datacards…?" he mumbled more or less to himself, still not noticing the others.  
Wes grinned owlishly, sneaking up behind Wedge and shouting: "Huh!"  
Wedge jumped and glared. Then the glare faded somewhat: "Ooh. Wes."  
Without a word, Tycho slid the datacard with the information about Moream over to Wedge.  
"What the hell…?" Wedge dropped his head on his crossed arms.  
"Not more work. Please?"  
"No more work, boss. Not for the next two weeks. Moream!"  
Hobbie sounded unusually enthusiastic.

Wedge still didn't lift his head. "Tycho, is _**Moream **_a new synonym for **_More ways to drive Antilles mad_**´?"  
Tycho chuckled._ He has really got it bad this time._  
"No, it isn't."  
Hobbie gave the dark head of hair his own version of the patented glare Wedge usually reserved for them. "We were thinking of your salvation for once, oh glorious, absolutely honoured Antilles?"

"Was that a question mark at the end of the sentence, Hobbie?"  
Wedge asked, sounding more drowsy with each sentence. "I _knew_ it."  
"Look at it, will you?" Tycho asked, serious this time. With a small grin he added:  
"Before you doze off."  
" 'M not dozin' off. Commandin' officers don't doze off."  
"Yeah, right." Tycho shoved the datapard under Wedge's nose.

Wedge finally scanned through the information with practiced ease, eyes widening when he got to the line with the storm troops and at last looking at the others warily.  
"We're going there, Wedge."  
"F-for what are you goin' there?" Wedge sounded as if he was already sleeping.  
"Not only we, you too."  
Tycho answered, unsure whether he should laugh or be concerned because of the state their friend was in.  
_That_ finally got Wedge's attention. "What? We? But I have got w-work to do."

"No, you haven't." Wes grabbed him under his arms and quickly yanked him to his feet.  
"What do you want to do there?" Wedge sounded unsure.  
"There is something named vacations. Ever heard of it, Wedge? It's the thing you usually do, whenever you're not working? Having a good time and so on. It's actually quite funny."  
"Whenever I am not working? When's that?" Wedge smirked, sounding quite corellian.  
"Alright, alright." He finally conceded. "I'll just go get my things."  
"Meet you in Hangar 32 in two hours." Wes replied.  
Wedge tossed them a salute and left.

…

"Well…that was…"

"…unexpected". Wes finished Hobbie's sentence. "Un-wedge-like."  
"Yes." Tycho shook his head: "I expected him to refuse first."  
"That's not a good sign, is it?"  
"No." Hobbie stared at the door. "No. He must be _really_ wasted to back down _that _easily.  
"Oh- you mean so wasted that he doesn't even comment on the horror of going on holiday with you two?"  
"That has been such a smart comment now, that it will earn you two merry days of kitchen duty, Janson."  
Wes grinned innocently at Tycho.  
"We have leave, Tych! Have you forgotten about that?"  
"No" Tycho gave him a tight smile, that made Wes gulp.  
"Actually I haven't. There will still be a squadron after we get back from our holidays, won't it?"  
"Well, well, who has the Ewok Misfortune now?" grinned Hobbie.  
"Lieutenant Klivian..."  
"I am going to my quarters to get my things. See you."  
Laughing, Hobbie escaped around the corner.

* * *

After clearing everything with command, they finally were on their transport, the Pulsar Skate.  
Mirax Terrik Horn, an old childhood friend of Wedge's, was the captain.  
Corran Horn, her husband was aboard as well- Mirax and him were going to Dantooine for a while, trying "to have a good time for once, but with that CorSec attitude Corran got, it will probably be something different" as Mirax had put it, making a face.  
They had dragged a protesting Wedge off to the bunks "No, I am fine"- but in the end, after several promises of an extra strong caff the next morning, he had given in and was now sound asleep in one of the cabins, getting his well-deserved rest. 

Tycho sat with Hobbie and Wes in another, somewhat bigger cabin. Corran had joined them too.  
The blond Alderaanian looked again through the information they had on Moream.  
Finally a smile appeared on his features.  
"Oh-oh,"commented Hobbie "he's got an idea…."  
Without commenting, Tycho took the datapad and handed it to Hobbie and Wes.  
"What's that?" asked Wes suspiciously.  
"If it leaves you in a good mood it's most certainly something to get grey hair about."  
"Oh thanks", replied Tycho dryly. "Thank you for your generosity, Mr.Psychologist."

"What is it?" Hobbie tried to have a look, but Wes shoved him away.  
"Tycho wants to take us to a troll dance, dressed up as blue Ewoks."  
"Oh good, as long as you're pay….Hold on for a second---He wants **WHAT**?"  
"Yeah" replied Wes straight-faced.  
"To a troll dance. You dress up as a pink Ewok, Tycho here gets to be the blue Ewok and Wedge has to stick to the Red Leader Ewok."

Tycho had to bite on his tongue in order to keep himself from snickering at Hobbie's horrified expression.  
"You're joking" the mournful pilot said flatly.  
"Nope" Wes grinned, evading Hobbie's hands, who tried to take the datapad from him.  
"We'll have to sound like real ewoks as well, you know, a squeaky voice and all that."  
Hobbie's jaw dropped and Tycho buried his face in his hands.  
Corran had a laughing fit behind them.  
"_Like that_" Wes imitated an ewok with a high-pitched voice. "C'mon. Now it's your turn."  
Hobbie stared at him incredulously. "No."  
Tycho coaxed him further: "Aw, come on, Hobbs. Just one word."

But Hobbie had already managed to snatch the datapad from Wes's hands.The cheerful pilot made a mad dash to the door and managed to get out, but Hobbie was already behind him.  
A loud scream could be heard and then- silence.  
"Well," Tycho mused, " so much for that."  
"What is on that datapad anyway?" Corran asked.  
Tycho grinned :"Have a look, Corran."  
"Oh…"

* * *

_Please let me know what you think (-;_

_Some perhaps (by some) unknown definitions:  
Eyeball: TIE-fighter  
Squint: TIE-Interceptor  
CorSec: Corellian Security_


	7. The fab four: Moments like these 2

_Disclaimer: Lucasfilm Ltd and George Lucas still own all the characters, that you recognize. This story is merely written for entertainment._

_----__  
_

_Thank you very much for your review **TriGemini. **  
Here's part two of the Rogues holidays. Sachita  
_

_**  
**_

* * *

**"Life would be so dull, if it weren't for some friends who lighten it up with a bit of craziness."**_**  
**_

* * *

_**Moments like these 2/3  
**_

* * *

_**++Flying trolls and other curiosities+**_+

"This is such an idiotic activity to spend your time on!" complained Wedge Antilles, pulling himself up from the ground and glaring indignant daggers at everyone in his range of vision.  
"This is honestly such a great day!" Wes Janson sounded gleeful, whereas Derek "Hobbie" Klivian yelled obscenities at him.  
Tycho Celchu gracefully stopped next to Wedge  
. "What are you yelling about?"  
"That…_substance_!" Wedge sounded plaintive.  
"It is sticky and everywhere…with these things on my feet I can't even walk properly."  
"You aren't supposed to walk with them, Wedge. You slide down the slope…like that!"  
His explanation was interrupted by a loud noise and some screams.  
Wes chose that moment to announce from behind:  
"Hobbie has just slid down that slope.."

Wedge Antilles stared down on his skis.  
Gliding- he was supposed to glide down that slope and look like an extremly dignified…idiot. Wonderful…  
He looked up at the grey sky. It was nice here.. except for the fact that he couldn't feel his little right toe anymore.  
And his nose. And his ears. And his fingers. And…  
"Wedge!" Hobbie stopped next to him, looking like a dour garden gnome with his red nose and the long blue jelly bag cap.  
Wedge felt better- with Hobbie you could at least wallow in self-pity together. Hobbie surveyed their surroundings.  
"Wedge, don't tell me they want us to go there."  
He pointed to the valley under them.  
Wedge groaned. They could barely detect the inhabitants' speeders from here- they looked like little floating toys.  
"Why is Tycho so intent on that old-fashioned sort of sport anyway? For travelling through the mountains we could have used snowspeeders as well."  
"Yeah." Morosely, Hobbie stared ahead. "I don't like snow that much."  
Wedge looked at him with concern. They had talked with Hobbie about going to a snowy area because of their traumatic experiences on the ice planet Hoth - and especially Hobbie's ones- during the war with the Empire, but the Ralltiirian had assured them, that he was going to be alright.  
In that moment however, he didn't look alright.

Wedge was quickly startled out of his reverie by Tycho's cheerful voice. "Come on you two. Or do you want to strike roots here?"  
Wedge smiled. He was glad Tycho was enjoying himself.  
He liked it here, too, even if he became acquainted with the ground every five minutes once again.  
"Come on, you two!" Wedge stared annoyed at Wes.  
It irritated him to no end, that the other man was practiced with skis as well, whereas Hobbie and him got teased.  
Speaking of whom- Wedge glanced to his right and was met with the sight of a snowman who looked remarkably like Hobbie and even cursed like him- and the most interesting thing of it all was the huge snow drift, from where he was picking himself up.

* * *

Tycho resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Hobbie was annoying him with plaintive questions like: "When will we arrive, Tych? When will we arrive?" and when he answered: "Soon", Hobbie would whine: "But when? Minutes, Tych! Time! Give me an exact time!"- Wedge was obviously in denial and had almost disappeared behind his large scarf that obscured half of his face- and last but not least, Wes was building little snow ewoks -they looked rather like a herd of nerfs- whenever they made a break. He claimed, that if Lieutenant Kettch was ever to come here, he would find the way easier.  
"There it is!" he announced loudly, relieved when he saw the skiing lodge appear out of the dancing snowflakes.  
"Finally we have arrived." 

Wes bounced like a small child, an action in which his skis refused to take part in, and so, soon after, a cursing and shouting Wes was on his way to the lodge in form of a little avalanche.  
"Weeell" Wedge stretched the word " I guess someone will arrive sooner than us at the lodge."  
Hobbie, with thawing snow in his hair and his clothes, just looked miserably ahead.

"C'mon guys.Time to drink some hot chocolate."  
Tycho had hoped to cheer them up and that last sentence had really made them get shining eyes. He shook his head. _Children…_

Upon entering the lodge, they found Wes already sitting in one of the rocking chairs and staring out of the windo.  
"Hey guys" he smiled when they entered "guess what!"  
Wedge sighed, looking irritated, and made his best "Wes-Jason-you-are-dead-when-you-don't-speak- further-right-now!"- face. Wes however wasn't affected by it. "You know, I saw one of these animals we read about out there. It stared at you, when you came in, Hobbie. I think it has a thing for you." Hobbie stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Wes" he growled.  
"Yes? It fancies you Hobbie. There's no denying it. It almost melted when it looked at you- and now- see- it's doing it again!"  
He pointed out of the window. Hobbie followed his gaze, as did Wedge and Tycho.  
A clumsily-built snowman stood outside, with huge eyes: stones, which almost fell out of his head and it was blowing them a kiss.  
Wes laughed. "You looked."

* * *

In the evening, they sat around a real, open fire- Tchyo had climbed up on the roof before and had cleaned the chimney. Now, they were all sitting there, steaming mugs of hot chocolate in their hands and quietly staring in the flames.  
Breaking the silence was Wedge. He yawned hugely and the others watched fascinated how long Wedge was able to yawn. "Twenty-five seconds." Hobbie sounded awed.  
"Wedge, did you just swallow a frog?"  
Wedge looked at first a bit embarassed, then mock serious.  
"No, Hobbs. I didn't swallow a frog. I actually swallowed a nerf."  
Tycho smirked:  
"At least you didn't try that with an X-Wing. I mean, that's every pilot's dream, being able to fly without wings, but when have dreams ever learnt to fly?"  
From his position in the corner, where he was quietly dozing, Wes Janson mumbled:  
"When trolls learn to fly? I knew you were supportive of that dance, Tych."  
The others stared at him, stunned, then looked at each other and started to roar with laughter. 

Soon after, Hobbie yawned and Wedge looked, as if he was starting to nod off. "Okay, I guess, we'll be going to bed now."  
Hobbie grumbled something unintelligible and climbed up the ladder, which was leading to their "beds", some large mattresses with a lot of blankets and cushions.  
"I'll take the spot next to the window, if that's alright" he called.  
"Just don't try and fall out, Klivian" Wedge retorted, following him swiftly.  
"Haha. Very funny."

Tycho stayed next to the fire and finished his cup of hot chocolate.  
Suddenly he was aware of Wes watching him through half-lidded eyes.  
"Wes?" No response. He said a little louder: "Wes!"  
"Huh! Don't you disturb me. I am deep in thought."  
"Thinking? You? Well, I must say, that's definitely something new."  
Wes opened his eyes fully and glared at him.  
"Thanks, Tycho. Now you've managed to disturb my flow of thoughts."  
"What were you thinking of anyway?"  
Wes grinned and his youthful face got a look of innocence.  
"Oh no." Tycho leaned back in his chair and tried to stifle a grin of his own, while he was looking to the ceiling.  
"C'mon, Tych. My pranks aren't that bad. You gotta admit, Lt.Kett is fabulous."  
"Yes" Tycho said. "I guess so. Even Wedge likes him, even if you would never get him to agree on that."  
Wes looked suddenly different: older and a bit grim.  
Tycho wasn't surprised- he knew Wes wasn't only a prankster, but hid behind that façade as well a wholly different man. Not many people knew, only those who were close friends ever got to see this side of him- from the others he would carefully hide it behind a complex, over long years-built defence shield made out of the image of Wes Janson, extraordinary prankster king .

"Yeah, I know that. I think he knows, that I know, too." Wes laughed a bit tiredly. "He probably loves him more than I do. But it's good to see him smile, you know, Tych? That whole kriffed war with the Empire has robbed us of our best years already and it will rob us of more years still. And so, I try to make it all a bit better by the only way I can think of. To see you smile. To see Wedge smile. To see Hobbie being cheerful. Yeah, and me, I can keep my sanity that way."

Tycho stayed silent; it was seldom that Wes spoke so freely.  
After a while, Wes continued and he sounded just a bit more weary:  
"Have you ever thought about…you know, leaving the military and lead another kind of life? One that doesn't involve death and pain every second day…? "  
He paused. "I have. I really have considered walking up to Starfighter Command and handing them my resignation. But then it hit me: I can't. I realized that I was already past the certain line- that I couldn't simply go there and get a new life, a new job- simply everything.  
I wouldn't even know what to do. Yes, I guess, you could say I wouldn't fit in an ordinary life anymore, couldn't stand being a farmer on Tanaab or flying passenger shuttles until my hands are burning. Would you be able to do so, Tycho? Could you handle it?"

Tycho thought about it, but he knew the answer already.

"No. To be honest, Wes, I guess, no. Perhaps the military has made us narrow-minded, but I couldn't have another job anymore. Imagine us four being normal neighbours somewhere on a backwater planet, joking about the weather and debating about the problems, that Jol Joe has had with his wife recently. I couldn't do that."

Wes chuckled with a hint of dark humour..  
"We're all junkies, aren't we? Addicted to that stuff the Empire throws at us.All that pain and blood and death.  
"He clenched his teeth. "Sometimes I'm feelin' like nothing but a killin' machine."

"You are not. It's for the freedom of the galaxy."  
"Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself too. But who'll free **_me_** of the blood on **_my_** hands?"  
Tycho didn't answer, because, you know, some questions can't be answered.  
Like those about justice. He had mused about that particular question often as well- but he had found himself unable to answer it.

He wondered if anyone could.

* * *

_Tbc... please, leave me a review! They make my day...! _


	8. The fab four: Moments like these 3

_Thanks for your very long and very nice review,** TriGemini.** You are really the only one who leaves me a review. Thank you!! This little story is finished now (yes, Rogues go back to work! (-; ) but I'll update again- other stories. Sachita__  
_

* * *

**_Moments like these 3/3  
_**

* * *

**_  
++Impossibilities at impossible times+_**+ 

"Stop whistling."  
"Nobody's whistling, Wedge."  
"My ears are still in a fine shape, thank you. So, stop whistling. Now."  
"This time it wasn't Wes, who replied. "Why, nobody is whistling, Wedge!"  
Disbelievingly, Wedge stared at a straight-faced Tycho.  
"Yeah, he's right" Hobbie piped in. "Perhaps you ought to go to see the OneBee."  
Wedge stared at them and shook his head.  
"What have I done to you, o invisible force, for you to put me in the same place with strange mynocks like these three?"  
"Mynocks?" questioned Hobbie.  
"O invisible force?" Tycho raised an eyebrow.  
"Why so dramatic, Wedge? A simple _"Sithspit!_" would be alright for us..." Wes grinned.  
Wedge glared at them.  
Sometime later they were on their way to yet another skirun  
.Someone was whistling- a cheerful Corellian tune.  
"Stop whistling, Wedge."  
Wedge gave Tycho an incredulous glance, as if he was doubting his sanity.  
"Why? No one was whistling, Tycho. Are you sure that you shouldn't go and see the doctor? I'm sure he has a cure."  
Tycho shook his head. "Ok, Veggies."

* * *

Some time later, they had arrived at the top of the mountain.  
The sky was vast and endless over them and had a sapphire blue hue.  
Little white clouds aimlessly floated through the atmosphere and occasionally they would enfold the sun in one of their chilling hugs.  
Little snowflakes danced on their reddened cheeks and the air was fresh and cold in their loungs.  
Tycho sighed and breathed in, closing his eyes and freezing in place for a few moments.  
Wes chuckled next to him, but he didn't comment on Tycho's odd behaviour.  
Huge mountains surrounded them and their snow-clad peaks glowed in the sun.  
Down in the valley there were large, almost endless-seeming forests with dark blue waters, untouched in their icy beauty.  
Only a few settlements could be found on that planet- it was quite far in the Outer Rim and most settlers dreaded the long cold winters and the often hot, merciless summers.  
Normal tourists didn't come here as well- most of them chose to go- if they even did- to hotter areas. 

The found a relatively dry spot with only slightly damp grass at the edge of the forest.  
Hobbie sighed appreciatively.  
"It's nice here" he murmured drowsily and dropped down in the grass on his back, his eyes dreamily half-closed.  
"Well, well" Wes drawled "who do we have here? Is it by any chance a Hobbie?"  
Hobbie didn't open his eyes, but he frowned.  
"I don't like it when you say my name like that. Makes me sound as if I'm a activity, which you do in your free time- something like sport, collecting holo star signatures or publishing the new album with all hits from Jol Joe…"  
"Did you learn that definition by heart, Hobbie?"  
No,Tycho was not a little bit amused.  
He was only almost in a laughing fit.  
"Actually I did", Hobbie answered dignified.  
"A man's gotta do something in Wedge's briefings."  
"Hobbie…!"

"By the way, who's Jol Joe? Tycho and you seem to mention him pretty often.  
Do I know him? Is he nice or is he dumb? He sure sounds like a fun person.  
Maybe you two can introduce him to me."  
"If he is as strange as Wes, don't do so" interrupted Wedge.  
"Yesterday I found my first grey hair, thank you."  
After the two of them had finished, Tycho and Hobbie stared at each other and burst out laughing.

Tycho gasped for breath. One look at Hobbie was enough and he started to laugh again.  
Hobbie wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and chuckled once more.  
"What is it?" Wedge wasn't pleased. "Have you two finally gone mad? Or is it just the big black spider, which is hanging over your head, Hobbie?"  
Hobbie actually stopped laughing and looked for the non-existent spider.  
Once he had discovered its before mentioned non-existence, Wedge's cure lost its effectiveness and he was soon rolling around again, holding his sides.  
"Wedge" Tycho laughed. He gasped and broke out in a fit of giggles again.  
"Coruscant to hysterical elderly woman called Tycho Celchu!"  
Wedge, who sensed that Wes's method would only serve to laugh themselves into oblivion, tried another technique.  
"Captain Tycho Celchu! Lieutenant Derek Klivian! Attention!"  
"Sir!"  
Wedge hid a smile. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't suppress the routine, which had been hammered in their heads in the military.  
"What do you have to say for yourself, gentlemen?" That was too much again, apparently.  
Tycho gasped out: "We have just lost control for a moment, sorry, si-"  
here his composure failed him again "siiiiir."  
Now he had sounded, as if he were drunk and that was enough to send Hobbie off the edge again.

A minute later, Tycho's arm, which he had raised for the salute, dropped to his side.  
"I am sorry, Wedge" he laughed again" really, really, ooph sorry" he gasped "but that was damned funny. You see, Jol Joe is- no, was"…  
He glanced at Hobbie. "Well. It was a slang term, which referred to a cleaning droid at the Academy."  
"A…cleaning droid? You named..it?"  
Tycho grinned. "Yeah. 'T wasn't our idea, though. It was rumoured , that a commander had once gave his squadron a dressing-down next to the restrooms.  
Unfortunately, a cleaning droid happened to pass by.  
In his anger, the commander smashed it at the wall and this action damaged its configuration. It switched in another mode and recited all the time a recorded message, in which the name Jolly Joe appeared quite often.  
Before they could catch it, it was gone.  
But some people still claimed to have seen it appear in the restroom sometimes, mopping the floor and whistling Jolly Joe…Jolly Joe...Jolly Joe´."

"A buliding haunted not by any strange white ladies, but haunted by a cleaning droid. I like it." Wes grinned. "Gives me some ideas. What about a building haunted not by any white ladies and cleaning droids, but by Kettch, the Ewok?"

"Uh…no!"

Wedge quickly changed the subject."Hobbie- one thing has always interested me: just how did you get that nickname now?"  
Hobbie grimaced.  
"Do you really want to know?"  
"Yes."  
"Oh – it's a long and odd tale."  
"You're not getting off the hook that easily. We have time."  
Hobbie sighed. "Fine.For starters, I don't like the name Derek. I never have. I wonder what possessed my mother, when she named me."  
The others laughed.  
"Well, anyway…I guess, I was fourteen or even younger, I can't remember properly anymore.I was on my way to school. Well, there was that speeder sign. And I wasn't looking ahead of me, since I was talking to some friends...  
The next thing I knew, was that I was tripping over something and I held on to the nearest thing, which happened to be the speeder sign.  
Sith, I swear, the others were teasing me for years about this.  
Whenever we saw that sign, they would say: _"Oh, look, there is that beautiful girl of yours, Derek! Don't you want to hug her once again?"_…"  
Hobbie glared when the other Rogues started to laugh hysterically.  
"Do you want to hear it now?"  
They nodded, trying to contain their laughter and Hobbie continued.  
"Then there was the time I walked into a door."  
The others laughed again. "Hey- I didn't see it! It was made out of Duraplast and very clean.  
What can I say? I guess I've always had such bad luck.  
That was when the others started to call it my hobby.  
Well, and so I got the name Hobbie."

The others stared at hin. "Huh- that's not how I would have imagined you getting that name. " Wes sounded surprised and Hobbie started to laugh."I didn't. What do you think?! That I would reveal that secret and end the guessing? Nah. It's just too much fun for me to hear your creative solutions."  
Wedge had to smile. "Very smart move, Klivian."  
"But did you really walk into that speeder sign now, Hobbie?"  
"And, how did you get the nickname really now?!"  
"To your question, Wes, I really did, yeah."  
Wes laughed. "That's priceless!"  
"Thank you, Wes. You're _such _a good buddy. And to your question, Tych, I'd rather not tell."  
Tycho's lips twitched. "Something that involves a girl, Hobbs?"  
Hobbie blushed a guilty bright red.

* * *

Wedge watched Tycho sleep. The Alderaanian was facing him in his sleep,the blond hair tousled and his face relaxed. He looked very innocent and young like that to Wedge.  
Wes was curled up on Tycho's other side, his thumb in his mouth.  
Wedge grinnned amusedly, thinking that he had just found another piece of evidence for Wes's real age.  
He turned to his other side. A pair of dark eyes watched him. 

"Hobbie? Still awake?"

"Yeah. I can't sleep either, I guess."

The moonlight illuminated his face in a ethereal white light, his sandy brown hair seemed almost grey and Wedge had a sudden inkling of what Hobbie might look like in later years."God knows, I am tired though" added Hobbie and yawned hugely.  
"Yes. Me too" Wedge grinned slightly.  
"They really picked some nasty ski runs today, didn't they?"  
"Ooph." Hobbie groaned and discreetly massaged his backside.  
"I swear I feel every one of my twelve bones and thirty-two bonelets in my body."  
Wedge raised his eyebrows.  
"Hobbie, I think the human body has more bones than just fourty-four."  
Hobbie smiled dourly: "I have never paid much attention to biology.  
On Ralltiir we had a teacher, who was to be frank, incompetent."  
"And besides, I guess, Hobbie, you weren't listening to him as well."  
Hobbie chuckled. "You know me too well. I was too busy planning my weekends at the time."  
Wedge frowned a little bit. "Yes, but that all was a long, long time ago."  
Hobbie agreed. "I can hardly remember it now. It seems like a happy dream bubble now."

Wedge smiled. "I've always wanted to become an architect, when I am an adult, you know. I've never thought of being a pilot even though I have always liked flying."  
"Fate can have funny ways sometimes" Hobbie mumbled wisely.  
Then he snorted. "You know, I can almost picture you being that architect. You would be staying up the whole night, looking through your designs, correcting them here and there and finally you would be still dissatisfied, even if they were perfect and would draw it all anew."  
He added wryly: "Besides, you would still have some people, who you could order around. I bet you would enjoy that part."  
Wedge laced his fingers under his head. "Oh, come on, Hobbie, I am not that bad of a commander, now am I?"  
Hobbie looked mock thoughtful. "Well, Wedge, if you ask me like that…"  
Then he noticed, that Wedge looked serious and recalled the mood he had been in before their departure. Sithspawn. " Of course, Wedge. You are the best commander I could ever wish for, and that's my honest opinion."  
"Yeah?" Wedge half-smiled.  
"Yeah" confirmed Hobbie.

Abruptly, Tycho snored softly and the two pilots grinned at each other.  
"He always tells us, that he doesn't snore. Should we record it for the archive?"  
"Nah" Wedge felt a stupid grin tugging at the corners of his mouths and felt oddly like a teenager again. "Was he like that at the Academy as well?"

He could tell, that this had been the wrong question, because Hobbie's facial expression got darker. "No. But at the Academy, I didn't know him all too well. First, he would occasionally help me pull some pranks on Biggs, but then some…things happened and we grew all apart."  
Wedge was quiet for a while. "What happened there, Hobbie?"  
Hobbie was silent as well, lost in unpleasant memories.  
When he spoke, his voice was soft and held an almost imperceptible tremor to it.  
"The Academy wasn't fun. We got up at half past five am in the morning, so we hadn't much chances to spend the evenings somewhere.  
It was a very hard daily routine, but we all got used to it somewhen.  
Wedge, you can't think of us back there like you've got to know us first.  
We were all harder, colder, I could say.  
Anyway..the first incident, which made us think about the Empire was the thing with the girl. There was once a girl in the Academy, named Sierlay Temran. She was a good pilot, better than me and better than the most of us. Biggs, Tycho, she and I belonged to the best four pilots of our age-group. Well, Tych here bested us all. But she managed to beat me as well as Biggs in the sims, which was indeed an accomplishment."

Wedge knew, that these words were not an empty boast- Hobbie and the rest of them were really some of the best pilots alive.

Hobbie paused again:" Well, but nevertheless, even if she was that good of a pilot, she was constantly discriminated and picked upon.  
One day, she had forgotten one button at her uniform. We stood there at attention in a line, impassive, boots in one row and hands clasped in our backs.  
Instructor Fel came to her-she was standing right next to me- and said loudly, that she would have kitchen duty for a week, because she had "appeared in such a messy state under the eyes of her superior officer". If one of us forgot one button, he would reprimand us, but he was far harder to her, only because she was a woman. I couldn't understand that and I'll never forget the look on her face. I know that it sounds a bit ridiculous, but this incident made me think a lot about the oh-so-perfect Empire."

Wedge didn't want to be nosey, but he asked further:  
"There has to be something else, Hobbie?"

Hobbie hesitated and breathed sharply in.  
"Yes. You see, Biggs and I were good friends- fast friends.  
He told me about his ideas of the Empire and I eventually saw the truth behind them.  
We met with a group of people, who wanted to defect after graduation.  
However, someone found out about our meetings. They were caught- at a meeting, from which we were fortunately absent, otherwise you would have never known me.  
We had to…"  
Hobbie gulped. "We…They lined them up and made us watch how they shot every single one of them. They told us, that we had to learn how one was supposed to treat traitors.  
Some of them weren't quite dead. They had aimed so sloppily.  
Then they picked Biggs, me and some others and told us to finish the job.  
I didn't want to."  
Hobbie's breathing got more ragged.  
"They_ forced _me to do so, Wedge. They forced me. They tightened my finger on the trigger and I closed my eyes when the blaster went off."

His voice dropped to a whisper."Tycho wasn't there that day. When I told him about what had happened, he tried hard to find reasons for their behaviour- yes, I think he saw the error in their ways himself too, but nonetheless he tried almost feverishly to justify their actions.  
I think, that he couldn't associate those happenings with the spotless image he had of the Empire. He told me a lot of things, but he couldn't convince me anymore of the Empire's goodness. Nothing could do so anymore.  
Until then it had all been a game, not a particular funny one, but still a game with all of your friends- train in the sims, run laps, get up early…  
But on that day the game had got too serious for me.  
Tycho noticed my discomfort- and he started to grow uncomfortable around me."

Hobbie took a deep breath again. Wedge tried to calm him down a bit:  
"I am sorry, Hobbie, that I have pressed you to tell me all these things. You can stop now, if you want to. You don't have to go on."  
Hobbie met Wedge's searching gaze determinedly.  
"No, I want you to know what we were like before you knew us.  
I want you to understand. Besides, I have already started that sordid tale, so there is no use in ending it in the middle."

Hobbie seemed to shudder once, then he went on.  
"I hated it, how we seemed to grow apart, but there was a huge rift between us then..  
Tycho was still so loyal to the Empire, so devoted to the cause…Sure he knew, that there were some mistakes in its ways, but he always told me, that he had joined, because he believed, that you still could fix it…  
I on the other hand was just looking for the next possibility to bite the hand that had fed me until now. Tycho was careful around me and I watched my words around him. Soon after, I got assigned to the _Rand Ecliptic_ and you know the rest of the story…  
Sithspit, I swear, it seems like a lifetime ago to me, when all these things happened.."

He grinned a little bit, trying to lighten up the atmosphere.  
"However, Wedge, I swear, I hated those uniforms."  
Hobbie's laugh was infectious.  
"Why?"  
"You could see every ounce of weight, that the owner had gotten more. Even worse than with those sorry excuses for dress uniforms."  
"Hobbie, you are vain."  
"Ha- who complained about his small height recently?"  
Wedge whistled innocently. "I don't know- was it Chewbacca?"

* * *

It was the next day, when Wes crashed rather spectacularly.  
First he was shouting: "Hey guys! Let me show you something, I've learned on Tanaab."  
Wedge hid his face quietly. "No ,no, no…"  
Hobbie said dourly: "Like I've always said. It's worse. He will crash and burn. I have that certain gut feeling, you know, in my fingertips and in my toes…"  
Tycho eyed him. "Uh, no, Hobbie. Actually we don't know, but it doesn't matter." 

Wes had misjudged the height of the hillock he wanted to jump from.  
And so, he jumped…and landed in an awkward heap on the other side in the snow.  
His skis went flying past him, having dropped out of their bindings, and disappeared somewhere in the distance.  
Wes himself was lying face-down in the snow, his arms stretched out to both sides.  
He didn't move.  
Hobbie as well as Wedge and Tycho were soon worried, when the merry-faced Tanaabian didn't respond to their calls.  
With his clumsy skill on skis, Hobbie maybe didn't have the necessary tactic, but he most certainly had a determined speed.  
And so he arrived first, even quicker than Tycho, who in turn looked far more elegant.  
Hobbie shook Wes's shoulders. "Wes! Wes! Wake up!"  
He turned the other man around. Wes's eyes were closed, his face pallid.  
Hobbie leant closer. Suddenly, someone started to laugh hysterically behind him.  
He glowered at Wedge and Tycho. "I don't see the humour in all that."  
Another snort of laughter, this time again from behind him.  
He slowly turned around.  
**"Wes!!!"**

The day, however, just kept on getting worse and worse.  
There was the time, when Hobbie fell into a creek and when they had to sit one and a half hours in the sun in order for him to drie.  
Wedge managed to collide with some oaks and complained about being not too sure whether his 44 bones were still all there, what earned him an amused glance from Hobbie.  
"It's worse, it's worse and it's still worse."  
Hobbie's whine earned him a disgruntled glance from a disillusioned Wes, who was sporting a black eye from his crash that morning.  
Wedge had once again disappeared behind his scarf and said nothing.

"It's cold, cold, cold, cold…" complained Wes.  
"Snow usually is." Wedge's tone of voice resembled that of a veteran teacher at a primary school.  
Hobbie sounded tired: "Guys, could we please behave our age and interact peaceful with each other?"  
"I did, Hobbie. Wes didn't."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"No."

"Did too!!!"

Once again, Tycho Celchu, Super-XO had to save the situation.  
Or so he thought.  
"Guys, you see, this could be worse, even without the cold, the snowflakes and the hail."  
"Yeah?" asked Hobbie interested.  
"Yeah."  
"And how?" Wes in turn sounded sour.  
"We could be stuck in a snow ball."

* * *

Finally, the last day arrived.  
Tycho had prepared himself for that day both mentally and physically.  
Wes had challenged him to a duel on skis and Tycho hadn't refused.  
A Rogue has a great deal of pride, after all.  
Wedge and Hobbie tapped their foreheads at them and shook their heads, declaring that they were both nutters and asked "how old they were."  
Tycho and Wes however couldn't be stirred from their resolve, no matter how much Wedge and Hobbie teased them.  
They were standing atop of a huge mountain.  
Snow slopes led in dark forests; the snow fields were almost untouched, except for a few animal trails here and there.  
Hobbie eyed the larger foot imprints with mistrust.  
"You guys should be careful" he finally said.  
"You, my dear Hobbie, are a naysayer."  
"Well, but I have a feeling." He turned away and paused. "But it doesn't matter. Go ahead." 

It was a good race-Wes and Tycho were almost equal both in speed and skill, but in the end it was Tych who won. He wasn't triumphant, like most Alderaanians he simply didn't possess this character trait, but he was most certainly a bit self-contended.  
Wes asked for a pay-back race and Tycho agreed.  
"So, now, I am going to show you how to make a perfect skiing run."  
He really was nearly perfect, but he didn't see the snow drift at all…  
Wedge was at first surprised.  
Then, upon seeing Tycho tumble in the snow with an almost comical half-somersault, he started to laugh.  
They skidded to a stop next to him and he ruefully grinned up at them, snow in his hair and in his eyes.  
"That was a perfect landing, Tycho" deadpanned Hobbie.  
He paused. "But only nearly."  
Wes grinned. "He almost rivals you in your _nearly_ perfect landings, Hobbs."  
Hobbie glowered at him.  
"I am not so bad. I have only-"  
"-destroyed three X-Wings in two years and landed a dozen times in bacta."  
Hobbie scowled at Wedge. **"Not **what I was gonna say."  
"Aw" Tycho interfered "You know we love you."  
If looks could kill, Tycho would have already melted from Hobbie's laser-strength glare.

* * *

"Avast, ye Rogues! Let's leave this sad rock, that they call Moream and head for more civilised waters yet again!"  
The others exchanged strange looks.  
"I swear, he has finally gone mad."  
Hobbie whispered that to Tycho and put a hand on Wes's forehead, checking his temperature.  
Tycho nodded in agreement and turned then to Wes.  
"Wes, what on Coruscant are you _talking _about?"  
"Oh" Wes smirked "you know, I am almost looking forward to our base again, the bars, the pretty girls-"  
"Oh, so you're looking forward to getting kitchen duty from Wedge-"  
"-And you're happy about getting shot down by said girls-"  
"-you will surely crash and burn quite spectacularly, remember that Bothan-"  
"-and what about getting up at five am in the morning?"  
The Rogues looked at each other dumbfounded, when they realised they had all been starting to talk at the same time and finally started to laugh.Wes raised his eyebrows and declared dramatically:  
"I swear, the only ones, who should get themselves checked by a _very _good doctor, are _you_, my dear friends." 

Wedge's comlink crackled to life.  
He waved at the others to be quiet, wondering, who could be calling him now, here, when they were on leave.  
"Antilles here."  
"Well, if this isn't my favourite Rogue." A noise in the background.  
"Alright, one of my favourite Rogues, but you know, that- Argh. Stop it."  
Wedge wasn't able to answer, since the voice continued in an almost sarcastic tone of voice.  
"If his highness, who calls himself Rogue Leader, would now turn around his almighty head and look behind him."  
Wedge felt a blush rising to his cheeks and he turned around slowly.  
They all hadn't noticed due to their loud bickering, that they had already arrived at the meeting place and that the _Pulsar Skate_ stood there already, waiting for them to get aboard.  
A very livid Mirax Terrik cleared her throat brusquely, a comlink in her hand.  
Wedge heard his own sentiments being echoed by a very subdued Tycho, who held a cautious hand up in greeting: "Uh…hi, Mirax."

* * *

"So, how was your holiday?" asked Mirax cautiously and brought Hobbie, who had managed yet again, to cut his hand horribly, a new bacta plaster.  
"How was _your_ holiday?" Wedge asked back.  
"Oh" Mirax glared at a cowering Corran behind her.  
"We have only solved three murder cases"- "four" protested Corran, but a face palm from Wedge and a simple _look_ from his wife made him fall silent again and Mirax continued.  
"Oh yes, four, I almost _forgot. _Thanks for pointing that out for me, oh dear, sweet husband of mine." Her eyes said: _Corran, we're gonna have a nice chat about this today evening _and Corran gulped.  
"Well, and we caught a gangster. What about your stay?" she inquired pleasantly.  
Under the meaningful stares of his fellow pilots, Wedge tried to stay as vague in his answers as possible.  
"Well uh, we fell in a creek, we made some races, we uh, went skiing?" he grinned hopefully up at Mirax.  
Mirax sighed . "Rogues. You're_ impossible._"  
They looked at each other and chorused with big innocent grins plastered firmly on their faces: 

**_"Impossible is what we do best."_**

* * *

_tbc?_**_  
_**


	9. H Klivian:Nothing romantic about war

_As always, **TriGemini **I am very grateful for your unwavering support! And yes, the Rogues are really impossible.  
They're doing the impossible and they are impossible. Somehow, it's symbiotic.  
And so, this here is dear Hobbie's part. He reflects about war and life. Hope you like it.- Sachita-  
_

* * *

_"In a war, there are no unwounded soldiers."_

* * *

**Nothing romantic about war**  
_

* * *

_

_"Blue seven, I am hit! I am hit…!"_

""Blue Seven, Rogue four here. Eject! A shuttle will pick you up.I will stay close to you."

_"Blue seven, the damned eject button doesn't work! No!I am hit! I am hit!"_

"Hold on, seven. Don't panic now. I am almost there.I can see you already-"

_"Aaah-"_

Rogue four punched his instrument panel with a gloved hand.

"Sith! Rogue Leader, here four; we've just lost Blue seven."

**"Copy that, four."**

Rogue four checked his visual readings, seeing that he had a TIE on his tail and he called for his wingman."Rogue four, I have an eyeball on my tail. Rogue three, where are you?"

**_"Three, hold on for a second there, four."_**

****Rogue four felt his X-Wing shudder, when more hits grazed his shields.  
He tried to shake the eyeball off, but now a second one had joined the first.  
The shields were down to 30 per cent.

"Damn it. Rogue three, you better come soon."

**_"I am on my way, four, but I have a situation here right now."_**

Another strong hit penetrated the shields of the X-Wing- Rogue four cursed, when he saw that some instruments on his panel were burnt through.  
The shields were almost gone-another hit would finish him off.  
He tried to outmanoeuvre the TIEs, seeing bailing out as the last solution.  
They were fighting dispersed remains of Warlord Zsinj's forces.

The soldiers they were fighting against were desperate and saw fighting to their last breaths as their only option. As such, they did not care whether they died or not and proved to be a hard piece of work for the Rogues.

He saw the atmosphere of the planet underneath him loom closer- he could always land the X-Wing there- if he would be able to control it well enough for a controlled landing- but anyway, he had to try.  
Being down there was most surely better than aimlessly floating around in space between the fierce fights in an ejection seat .  
He grasped the stick with sweaty hands.

"Rogue Leader, Rogue four. I have to go down."

The TIEs were still on his tail- he had to go down now.  
Not waiting for a reply, Rogue four cut almost all of his remaining energy to the engines, knowing that he would need a good portion of luck to get the X-wing down safely.  
Suddenly another direct hit sent the X-Wing spiraling out of control.

"Sithspit!"

Rogue four fought to regain control again.

Absentmindedly, he noticed another X-Wing coming down to him with roaring engines, taking out one of the two TIEs.  
The other TIE saw that he was outnumbered and knew, how sluggish the fighter in the atmosphere was, so he escaped upwards, but not before firing a last time on the X-Wing.

Rogue four was thrown forwards on the instrument panel.

The last thing he saw, was the ground coming towards him.

**_"Hobbie!"_**

Then merciful, velvet blackness.

* * *

He woke up to the hushed voices of his squadron members and the feeling of dry linen all around him.

"- will he be alright, doctor?"

"Major Klivian needs his rest now."

Hobbie opened his eyes and looked right in the concerned brown eyes of Wedge Antilles, next to him his squadron mates.

"Welcome back, Hobbie." Wedge's relief was palpable.

Hobbie attempted a smile, but didn't quite manage. "What about the guys with Blue?"

Wedge lowered his head:"Six dead. Fend'ar, Jant, Gernt, Meyer, Tanz and Sarge."

Wes sighed. "You gave us quite the scare, Hobbs. Don't pull that stunt again."

In the evening, Wes who had stayed with him sat at the opened window while Hobbie was sitting up in bed.  
Wes turned his head to look at Hobbie. "How are you feeling?"

Hobbie nodded tightly. "I will be alright."

"I am so glad you are okay."

Hobbie shook his head.  
"One day, my luck will run out. See, those guys from Blue squadron were good- it was pure luck. Nothing else. Just luck."

Wes laughed falsely.  
"Hey, stop that, will you? You're depressing me."

But they both knew it to be true- they were living on borrowed time.

* * *

A few days later, Hobbie, released from hospital was the one sitting at the open window of his and Wes' apartment and reflected while staring out into the early Coruscant night. Wes was out and he was alone with this thoughts.

Sometimes he looked for the differences between the Empire and the New Republic.  
It was an easy question for him to answer- the Empire was cruel, they killed innocent people, murdered billions without blinking once.

The New Republic had honourable ideals- but they didn't always live up to these ideals.

But, to be honest, had any government ever existed, which had managed to bring peace to all of its citizens?

Hobbie got up and walked over to his bed, sinking between the pillows and sighing.  
He closed his eyes and felt himself drifting off to a restless sleep.

_He was in a shower and scrubbed and scrubbed- his whole body. The water was cold on his hands and the soap burned in his eyes. His hands got red and he scrubbed harder, willing all of it to go off.  
He felt a presence behind him- turning around quickly, he saw his old flying instructor, Soontir Fel, standing there, who looked at him with morbid, grim interest._  
"_Forget it, son. It will never go off."  
With that he was suddenly gone. Hobbie spun around.  
The waterdrops had transformed in blood…The drops had faces with a mouth and eyes, opened in silent screams.."You killed us!"_  
"_No!" The blood-water surrounded him._  
"_No." But it was all over him already, staining his skin, sticking to his hair._  
"_No!" __**…It will never go off…never…never.**_

_Explosions, the screams, which would suddenly stop, the smell of singed flesh..  
Bloodied people, helplesssness in children's eyes, fear and anger in the gazes of their parents…  
And then, in a moment, when time itself seemed to freeze,  
an elderly man was telling him resigned: "It doesn't matter to us that you're not an Imperial. They are all the same. Some come with honourable ideals and leave without them. Some have bad intentions. But they all bring destruction over us. Destruction, pain, blood and death. So, tell me lad, why should I welcome you, because you're not the Empire?"_

_Another man with yellow teeth and a crooked smile:_  
"_Hah, Georg, how much do you think will it be today? Fifty? Hundred?"  
Horrified realization: he was talking about humans.  
Then the moment was gone and it continued._

_An X-wing spiraling out of control, an icy lump in his throat, Wedge telling them over the com with a hoarse voice to "abort the mission and head back to base",  
Wedge sitting at his desk, with his head in his hands, staring at unwritten letters, searching for words, how to tell the families and finding none except " he died, defending…"  
And then with his voice failing, Wedge looked up and they understood._

_The scenery changed. He was on Hoth.  
A fellow Rebel officer stared at him,wanted to say something.  
Suddenly blood flowed out of his nose and he collapsed in a boneless heap.  
He leaned down: the man was dead and he lifted his head up again.  
Suddenly he was flying over the ice field.  
An imperial walker came closer and he was again seeing the horror in the men's eyes, when he crashed in the window pane._

_

* * *

_

Hobbie woke up, gasping.  
He opened his eyes and saw Wes leaning over him with a concerned look in his eyes.  
"Bad dream?" the other Rogue asked. "You were screaming."  
Hobbie faked a laugh. "Yes."  
"You can't fool me, Hobbie" whispered his best friend.  
Hobbie gulped rapidly and blinked the tears away.  
"I don't have any intentions of doing so."  
Wes's concern changed into sudden understanding and he offered Hobbie his arms.

Clinging to Wes, as if he was some kind of an anchor, Hobbie couldn't bring himself to say anything. But it was alright. Wes understood. He always had.

* * *

**5 BBY, Cambrielle,Ralltiir**

_He was a large man, with large glasses and a large grey moustache and Hobbie hadn't paid much attention to him until now.  
But by now, he found himself staring full of wonder at the energetic man before them, wondering where his boring teacher had disappeared to._

"_I would fight too, if I was still able to! I would defend the Empire's honour as well!  
But as you see, my leg isn't well anymore."_

_The students stayed silent._

_He vigorously pointed to a holo at the wall._  
"_Look, that's the area that the glorious Empire keeps safe- and now these dirty Rebels try to take it away from us! They try to bring chaos to the galaxy, that the mighty Emperor has brought oder too- they want to destroy your planets, want to rip apart families and destroy everything"  
and with that sentence he addressed them personally,  
"the Empire and __**you **__too have ever fought for. Do you want that?"_

_Mumbling could be heard._

_The fire, which burned in his eyes, was enough to get Hobbie fully out of his dazed state._

"_And I am your teacher! I have studied at the university. Do you believe what I say?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Louder!"_

"_Yes, sir!"_

"_Exactly like that, because that's the tone of voice they will be using at the Academy!  
The capital Cambrielle shall rise and defend the glory and the honour of the Empire!  
People shall know, that we Ralltiirians do our part!"_

_By now, the class was in a hysterical, crazy frenzy._

"_And who will join the Empire now?"_

_The whole class raised their hands, carried away by his vehement speech and blinded by the ideals of defending their home world.  
Papers went flying through the air- and one by one they dropped again, flapping wildly when the door closed loudly. The gust of air made the candle holder on the table fall to the ground.  
Slowly, the flames flickered and died._

_Slowly, Hobbie bent down and numbly picked his blaster up.  
His blaster. They had used his blaster.__ Staring back at him were the dead eyes of his classmates- murdered in cold blood by the Empire. He had met with them often, discussed with them…just down the hall, in the old gym.  
He almost expected them to jump up and tell him, that he had managed to fall for one of their tricks again. Funny that they should never get up again…_

_Hobbie felt the cold metal of the blaster in his hand, even after some men had come and picked the bodies up.  
They had told them , that this was the way how one was supposed to treat traitors.  
But these men hadn't all been convinced about defecting after graduation- some of them had had doubts as to whether it was wise to join the Rebels and whether they wouldn't turn out to be as bad as the Empire was, only in another way.  
But they had been told on by someone and now they were all dead, caught at a meeting from which Hobbie had fortunately been absent._

_Thanks to my lucky stars!  
He laughed bitterly, thinking that really staring back at him from that red stain on the floor were his shattered ideals, born in a stuffy class room on Ralltiir, developed by a crazy old teacher, who had tried to convince them that there was some romanticism in dying for the Empire._

_Where is it now? Hobbie grinned crookedly._  
"_I am afraid, I can't find it, sir! Sir, it must have disappeared with the rest of leftovers of that kind in the refresher!"_

_Hopelessness threatened to overwhelm him, but at the same time, he was finally seeing clearly-like a fly that has been caught in cobwebs until now and has now freed itself from all the lies and deceits._

_And so, with fake sadness, Hobbie buried the false friend Empire in the Academy's grey floor, amidst the already drying red stains._

* * *

**Present, Coruscant, Rogue Squadron Headquarters**

"Alright, Rogues. We have a new mission."  
While Wedge explained the mission, Hobbie shortly glanced at Tycho,thinking about the anniversary of Alderaan's destruction, that was coming up soon.

Tycho caught his look and nodded at him, telling him that he was alright, yet the nod seemed forced.

Hobbie saw him clench his teeth shortly, and thought, that this was just another fault of the Empire.  
It had brought so much sadness over the people, so much death.

He was a military man and death was sadly enough an almost daily occurrence in their lives, but that didn't mean he had to like it.  
Personally, he had already made peace with the fact, that he would perhaps die in combat one day, and with his usual luck to land in bacta tanks ten times a year, who knew?

"So, Rogues, pack up and head out. Everyone ready?"

Hobbie joined in in the chorus of the others. "Yes, sir."

Wes glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes and Hobbie recognized the glance to be one of concern.  
He nodded quickly and Wes seemed relieved.

In that moment, Hobbie wondered, what they all had been like, before they were touched by the reality of war and death.

How had Tycho been like- had he been a carefree youth, living up the golden days on the green meadows of Alderaan?  
Nothing was left of that illusion, the war had made him to a man with hard eyes, a strict Colonel, a man who was used to give orders- but someone, who was shattered on the inside…Alderaan's demise had made him careful, guarded, when around strangers.

And Wes- Wes, who had joined the Alliance earlier than most of them except for perhaps Wedge- Wes, who had he been, when he had been younger?  
When he hadn't been haunted by his personal nightmares?  
A prankster perhaps, a laughing, friendly child with too much nonsense in his head for his own good- the prankster was still there, but oh, the façade hid so much sometimes…

Then there was Wedge.  
Wedge, who had been loved by his parents, Wedge, who had dreamed of becoming an architect, and yet he was here, writing condolence letters to families, who shouldn't ever have lost their sons- but the war hadn't given Wedge a choice.

No one of them had been given a choice.

Gavin, who had been such a naïve farmboy from Tatooine, a boy, who came after his cousin Biggs, had lost _it _too already. Hobbie saw it in his eyes and knew, it was only the same thing, which was reflected in his own eyes.  
He himself had lost _it_ such a long time ago, that he sometimes wondered, what it had been like.

When young recruits passed him in the hallways and he saw_ it_ in their eyes, still so alive, still so vibrant, he wanted to shout: "Don't do it! Stay away from here and go home again!"  
And he didn't want to shout that, because he wanted them not to have any experience in real life, nor did he want to deny them doing heroic deeds- hero: he hated this word, since it was nothing but cynic smoke to him now- no: he wants them to preserve _it._  
_It_ is innocence. It is a firm belief in the white and black: good people and bad people.  
_It_ is thinking, that you can still make the universe better, if only you try hard enough.  
Yes, that is _it_. And it pained him to see the same recruits come back from their first real battle without it.  
"Real life experience" they called that other expression.

But what if real life shouldn't be like that?  
Why couldn't real life be different? Hobbie wished for a galaxy with more smiles

* * *

"Life" Tycho had said in a quiet moment, watching a colourful butterfly soar past them,  
"life is a bouquet of flowers, a wide assortement of colours.  
If you take a hesitant step forward, the bright, vivid swarm will break out in every direction, to concatenate itself to a new, just as shrill and just as bizarre carpet once again, which includes yourself. And you stand there and watch the people go by, watch funny and terrible things happening. Just like the bouquet of flowers- maybe one is your favourite and one is in there, that you don't like at all. That's life."  
"Yes" Hobbie had murmured, admiring Tycho for his eloquence,"that's life and all is fair in it. Even war."

Wars tend to bring the best out of the people- or the worst, or so they say.  
Call him a pessimist, but Hobbie only saw the bad sides.  
Why did humans have to kill each other? Why did the Empire call aliens "scum"?  
They weren't worth any less than humans. What was a skin- nothing but a hull for a complicated organism!

What right did you have, killing people, because they didn't fit in a certain category?  
Hobbie was ashamed, that he had ever belonged to the Empire.  
How could he have been so blind?  
But that didn't mean, that he liked killing the Empire's troops.  
They were living, breathing beings, with an own will, own thoughts- how could he justify that?  
How could he justify him killing them ? How could he?

The Empire suppressed innocents and if he didn't kill their troops, much more innocents would suffer.  
There- a reason! A reason to kill the Empire's troops.

But why did he still feel bad?

Hobbie couldn't answer that question.  
He only knew, that he was sometimes even afraid of himself- when they were in a dogfight, when he would be proud, that he had just vaped three more TIEs…  
Three more lives lost. How on Coruscant could he justify this, killing others, even if they had deserved it?

Someone had once told him, that he believed, that beings had a general fault- they only looked for their own needs, and some even had a genetic defect- they enjoyed killing others.  
And the good ones, those with a gentle heart, those who tried to bring peace to the galaxy with peaceful methods, those were killed.

Those were suppressed by the others, by the ones with the defect- or maybe he should call them madmen.  
Where was the justice there?

And how could he, Hobbie, even think about it?  
Hadn't he killed to, countless times? But what other choice did the galaxy leave him?

_You could have stayed at home and let the galaxy fight their wars alone._

But he felt, as if he should try to bring peace- and bringing peace meant killing people.  
But…Hobbie felt, how his thoughts ran in circles.

_I need- I want a solution to calm my own conscience._

But he didn't find one, and he raked nerveless fingers through his hair, shaking.  
He couldn't- he didn't- he-

And so Hobbie sat there and sobbed his helpless grief out and screamed in his pillow.  
Maybe he was going mad. Maybe that was it.

Maybe he should just- yes, what? What should he do?

He would go on, killing the Empire's troops, killing others to bring peace to the innocents, and in a way, he could justify his actions.  
But there was again that other part, the one, which didn't let him calm down, the one, that screamed: "And yet you are a murderer!"

And so he would go on, letting his thoughts run in circles, scream in his pillows and wake up screaming in the night. It just never got any easier and it never will. Never.

So what is life?  
Is it just laughing- for the sake of laughing?  
And crying- for the sake of crying- even if you're not sure why?

Maybe it's different, life.

Maybe it's looking at the darker times, like war, but not forgetting the bright spots in them.

Hobbie lifted a weary head and smiled for the first time on that day.

Maybe that's it, he thought.

_Maybe._

_-fin-_


	10. T Celchu:Not that imperfect after all

_Thank you very, very much for your reviews, **TriGemini **(of course (-;) and** Ceres McClure.**_  
_Thanks for always leaving such detailled, long reviews, TriGemini (I am always like: Is there a review from TriGemini- yay!) and for supporting me all the time. I am glad you like the story.  
Ceres McClure- Great that you like these little stories and I am glad th__a__t you decided to review! You can't believe how strange it made me feel to get one review all the time and quite a lot hits to the story sighs  
I really hope you both and you others (if you are there) like this chapter too. Sachita  
_

* * *

Not that imperfect after all

"_Incoming T-65 starfighters at platform B 35"_ The impassive voice of control echoed through the hangar. _"Attention please."_

The lone lady in the New Republic Intelligence uniform at the entrance of the hangar smiled nervously. Her long white braid swung softly in the breeze of the landing starfighters.  
Rogue Squadron was just landing and she was waiting for one of its most prominent members to join her. She wasn't expected to be here now, but she knew, that he would be glad to see her. As was she.

Involuntarily she stepped back a little bit, when the X-wings came floating in almost majestically. Soft brown eyes smiled when she recognized the first fighter to be that of a good friend's of hers and her expected companion.  
The prominent kill marks and the two Death Stars on its side marked it as belonging to one Wedge Antilles, General and leader of Rogue Squadron.

She had to stifle a laugh, when another X-wing set down, one of its engines emitting sparks and smoke and making scraping sounds, accompanied by the angry cursing of the techs, who came running.  
A figure opened the canopy and dark blue eyes twinkled sheepishly down at the enraged techs. Of course. _Hobbie._

She registered Wedge waving at her, and she waved back, distracted, since her whole attention was captured by a third X-wing landing.  
It set down as gentle as the others and there was nothing exceptional about its looks, but for her, it meant the world, or, to be more exact, its pilot meant the world to her.

She fidgeted slightly, impatient, which was totally out of character for her, but she couldn't have cared less.  
The sound of the canopy opening was like a relief to her, and she felt herself getting all giddy and cheerful , as it was always when he was near.

The man, who emerged out of the X-wing wasn't very tall, but almost no pilot was.  
He had light brown, tousled hair, which was sweaty from the long flight and striking blue eyes, that made the viewer take a second look.  
She was sure that many women longed to get to know him closer, but with an air of sudden possessiveness she thought: _Mine!_  
The expression in those eyes could revert from the stony-faced, impassive Colonel to the warm, tender lover; the understanding, open comrade or the caring friend.

He was a man with many facades and she loved him for many of these, while she sometimes loathed him for others.  
Heaven knew he was no saint, and she couldn't claim to be one either.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by a fourth X-wing landing.  
A man with dark brown hair and merry eyes jumped down the ladder, bending nearly double from the force of his laughter. _Wes Janson. I don't want to know it._

She looked again in _his_ direction.  
Now she could take a closer look at him and she noticed, that he looked unscathed, at least physically and that made her breathe a sigh of relief.

He was quite tired, she could tell, and there were some tight lines around his mouth, that hadn't been there before. The woman frowned thoughtfully, wondering if everyone was alright. She was shaken out of her thoughts, when the man walked over to Wedge and gave him a slap on the back. Wedge smiled and said something, then pointed in her direction.  
The man slowly turned around, disbelievingly at first, then his eyes lit up.  
He broke in a run, the helmet tucked neatly under his arm.

Then Tycho Celchu skidded to a stop right in front of her and the helmet tumbled forgotten to the ground, when he opened his arms wide to embrace her: "Winter!"  
And then there was nothing but his arms and his scent, mingled with his sweat and his blue eyes, which were suddenly bright. "Oh Winter!" he said again and he buried his face in her hair, while she held him tight.

"Hello flyboy" she smiled, trying to suppress the emotion, that was threatening to overwhelm her too. "Good to see you once again."  
"How long has it been?"  
"Two months and three days" she answered.  
"But let's don't dwell on that now" she smoothed his wet hair out of his face. "How did the mission go?"  
He released his hold on her and wearily scrubbed a dirty hand over his eyes. "Nasty furball."

Winter put a hand over her mouth fearfully. She had known most members of Rogue squadron for long years know and they had grown close to her heart, too.  
"No" he seemed to have guessed her thoughts and tried to smile, even though he failed miserably. "Everyone is alright. We just- it is so frustrating!"  
"Why?"  
"The Imps pop up as if they've prepared themselves for that moment for years.  
Then they scatter our forces, kill some and vanish just as quick as they've appeared.  
It feels as if they're playing rancor and mynock with us.  
You never know what they're planning next, or which sabbac cards you get dealt out."

Winter looked at him worriedly and then decided, that they should talk about this later.  
"Let's go."  
"But-" Tycho protested, even though he was already forcefully dragged away.  
He shot a mock help-seeking glance at Wedge, who merely shrugged and grinned.  
Tycho mouthed a "That's ok for you?" at him and Wedge responded with another big grin and a slight tilt of his head.  
The blond Rogue still managed to shoot his commander a strict glance, which implied: "Don't work too long today and go get some rest!"

Wedge stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched, glad for his friend and executive commander, that he had someone who cared so much about him, when Tycho was finally pulled through the door. He would manage to deal with the paper mountain, that waited for him in his office, alone as well.

Outside of the door, Tycho scowled faintly irritated.  
"What is it?" Winter took his arm, knowing that Tycho wasn't mad at her for taking the initiative. Tycho shook his head and looked down for a second.  
"He works too much. I told him, he should get some rest, but I know, he won't.  
He is a terrible workalholic. "  
Winter appreciated his concern for his friend, but…  
"Well, that's Wedge for you. And if I recall correctly, that XO of his usually stays up till late in the night with said commander as well and works. But not today, because an evil dragon has come and has kidnapped him."  
"An evil, sweet, beautiful and smart dragon"  
Tycho corrected, knowing which side his bread was buttered on and took her in his arms once again.

"I'll let myself be kidnapped by it every time it wants to."

Winter's retort was cut off with a small shriek, when he suddenly hoisted her up in his arm and carried her to their speeder.  
"You smell" she said against his chest. "You need to shower."  
"Do I now?" Tycho seemed to be in a better mood.  
He came closer to her ear and whispered: "Do you want to take a shower too?"  
Winter gave him a slight clout and felt a slight blush colouring her cheeks.  
"You are terrible."  
"Why?" he grinned down at her cheekily. "I am simply asking beautiful fair ladies to take part in an invigorating activity, that shall make their day."

Unable to resist him, she pressed her lips softly against his, still safely lying in his arms.  
"You, my dear, are an old charmer."  
"Better than being a dragon like you, wouldn't you agree, honey?"  
She turned a mock scowl on him , while he held her even tighter and finally, they arrived at the speeder.  
He put her down and she made herself comfortable in his lap, smirking, when he winced.  
"Is something the matter, dear?"she asked, knowing fully well, what she was doing to him.  
"Love you too" he managed and clenched his teeth.

Eventually, they cleaned themselves up and it was after that when they found themselves sitting on a couch in their apartment, both with a glass of Alderaanian Wine in the hand and a warm blanket thrown over them.  
Tycho put his glass down and yawned hugely.

"Tired?" asked Winter and massaged his scalp, running her hands through his gold-brown locks.  
Tycho sighed and closed his eyes: "Yes."  
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, knowing that talking helped a lot with these things sometimes.  
"I don't know" he answered truthfully, then sighed a little.  
"Hobbie had a close call today again. His astromech was gone as well as the heck deflector shield and one of his engines had a grave malfunction. He can be glad that he managed to get back to base with the X-wing in one piece."

He sighed again and shifted a little in her arms.  
"It's just so unsettling- to think, that they could be all gone tomorrow.  
I can't even begin to imagine what I would do, if Hobbie, Wedge, Wes or Corran were gone.  
I know that it might be selfish to think that way, but…I can't help it.  
Though I hate the thought of losing _any_ of the Rogues, don't get me wrong."  
Winter kissed his forehead: "They are your best friends and they have a special place in your heart. It's understandable. Don't blame yourself because of those thoughts."

Tycho yawned, interrupting the serious silence.  
"Yes, I guess you're right. I am glad everyone is alright though."  
Then he snuggled closer to her warmth and Winter smiled amused, because he, the dignified, seemingly cold Colonel Tycho Celchu behaved like an oversized teddy-bear in her presence.  
She lovingly caressed his hair and pulled him closer to her.

"I got a week leave, imagine that."  
"Guess Intelligence has more mercy with you than Starfighter Command with us. We only have three days."  
Winter giggled. "Yes."  
Then she told him about Iella, who got dreamy, whenever Wedge was mentioned.  
Tycho sniggered. "Oh but she denies it. She was very hurt, when he first came together with that blue bimbo, you know.  
But I think they will soon both see reason. They're perfect for each other."  
Deep, regular breaths interrupted Winter's musings.  
She looked down and smiled. He looked so adorable, when he was asleep, curled up against her side with his hair tousled and his face relaxed.  
She settled his head more comfortably on her shoulder and watched his chest rise with his deep breaths. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

Up and….

Before she knew it, she was falling asleep.

* * *

He woke up late in the next morning, feeling, oddly enough, well-rested for once.  
He glanced down at himself and saw that he was covered with a warm blanket, a large cushion under his head.  
Sweet, caring Winter. He smiled and stretched, yawning.  
"You know, you shouldn't be so tired still, after you've slept for a good thirteen hours."  
Startled, he spun around. "Wha- Winter!"  
She smiled at him, the soft white hair around her face and her brilliant smile making her look like an angel, at least in his love-sick eyes.  
"Thirteen hours?" he murmured gently, stepping closer.  
"You're sure you have learned to read a chrono, yes?"

Winter gave him something akin to a half-hearted glare.  
"Of course."Then she looked at the chrono and gave him a sheepish half-smile.  
"Might have been just twelve hours and three-quarters of an hour after all."  
"You should be correct, Agent Winter" he pointed out.

"I-" Her reply was cut off, when Tycho kissed her and afterward she did nothing but smile a bit blissful.  
"You should close that beautiful mouth of yours, love" he gently teased her.  
"Have you forgotten that I am a dragon? The flies will die, if they try to get in."

Tycho gave her a smug look."I was thinking more along the lines of bees and Corellian wasps. Are you sure you can handle them as well?"  
"I am not sure. But if I have problems, you'll surely kill them for me."  
"And why?"  
"Because otherwise I won't cook anymore and get Wedge to cook for you."  
He smiled. "You're evil, love."  
She grinned back cheekily.

Then she frowned and looked at her chrono.  
"I think Wedge has managed to work himself to death already."  
"That" said Tycho dignified "is for _once _not my problem, because it'll most surely be mine again too soon."

Winter laughed. "What kind of problem is it?"  
Tycho gave her a mock desperate look.  
"Oh you know, dragging him away from his duties, locking him in his quarters, until he grudgingly admits, that he has to go to sleep now and finally working through the mountains of datacards he left behind. Oh, and I almost forgot: dealing with his grumpy self in the morning, preventing him from shooting Wes and Hobbie, who have managed to upset him yet again, making him caff, because otherwise he isn't responding in the mornings…"

"Oh. That bad?"

"Of course. Executive officer is a life-consuming job."

Winter gave him a long _look_.

"Ok, ok, I admit, maybe I enjoy looking after all this children in the squadron. The biggest child is the leader after all, you know."

"Followed only by his executive commander."

"Whatever you say. Dragon."

"I'll get you for this, just wait."

"But not today. I have planned something."

"A surprise?"

" Yes. A surprise."

Half an hour later, he returned, cleaned up, with a piece of cloth in his hand.  
Before she knew it, he had blindfolded her.  
"Where is that you are taking me?"  
"A surprise" he whispered close to her ear, making her shudder.  
She smiled slightly and drew him in for a kiss, missing his lips and finding his cheek instead.

"Close enough" he teased her.  
She felt herself being lifted off the ground , but she didn't object.  
"You just love carrying me around, don't you, flyboy?"  
"I don't listen to the cargo's opinion, m'lady."  
"Cargo?" She glared at him through the blindfold.  
"I am not a kilo of shoddy Corellian rhyscate, thank you very much."  
"Oh, of course you're not." A beat. "You're at least a ton of it."  
"And by whom am I getting carried around then? An A-wing's cargo hold?"  
"Oh."She could almost see his fake pout. "Don't compare me to the A-wing snubbies, sweetheart. They're way too hectic and impolite."

After a short while of travelling with the speeder, she heard something else.  
People laughing, the sound of engines humming and the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal.  
She could smell the engine grease, the sweaty pilots, the oil and the stale air of a hangar.  
"Hey!" someone yelled. "Tych!"  
Tycho turned around, presumably to greet the someone, who had just yelled his name.  
"Wes!" he greeted. "Hello. How are you today?"  
A pause. Wes seemed to stand close to them.  
"I am fine, Tych. What about you?…Oh….Why, carrying around beautiful cargo today, are we? A good day to you, Lady Winter."

She felt slightly awkward, communicating with Wes that way, but she did it nonetheless.  
"So, Wes…tell me, have you managed to drag Wedge away from his work?"  
Wes sounded puzzled. "Haven't seen him today, sorry."

Tycho growled and stomped off with her in tow.  
Suddenly, she was put down and heard Tycho's sigh.  
"Should have known. He is impossible."

"What has he done now?"

Winter removed the blindfold and was exposed to General Wedge Antilles lying slumped over his table, very much asleep.  
Tycho glanced at her in a mixture of amusement and annoyance.  
"Don't worry-that's not the surprise. That wasn't supposed to happen. Welcome to my life."  
"Do you really find him very often like that?"  
"Nah" said Tycho "don't worry. Only once half a year, but he is often close to dozing off.  
It sure looks, as if it is today again."

She smirked. "I suppose his XO isn't that bad in those kind of things either?"  
Tycho's ears got red, a sure sign for embarassement.  
"Well, once when we shared an office, we managed to do so together, yes...The cleaning lady woke us up."  
Winter bit back a sarcastic comment about certain complaints from certain people about just these kind of situations not so long ago.

Tycho meanwhile had hoisted Wedge up in his arms with a small grunt of effort.  
"Are you not going to wake him up?"  
"What- and risk having to deal with a tired out Wedge Antilles the next few days? No, I don't think so."  
Winter laughed, even more so, when Tycho asked her to look for people in the hallways.  
"They" he explained seriously "don't need to know these kind of things. Only if it are Wes or Hobbie, then it doesn't matter."  
"Aren't you worried that he will wake up?"

"No" replied Tycho and gazed with reluctant affection down at his commander.  
"If he's asleep, you need at least two cups of caff to wake him up. He sleeps like a child.  
A bit surprising, if you ask me, with him having been a member in the early days of the Alliance, when everyone was always on the run…Well, but that's Wedge."  
They had arrived at Wedge's quarters now and after entering the code, the door opened.

They went inside and with a sigh of relief, Tycho deposited Wedge on the bed.  
Wedge merely sighed in his sleep and Tycho shook his head, ruffling the Corellian's dark hair slightly. Wedge rolled over and murmured sleepily something about defect caff machines and intruders and annoying Wes Jansons.  
Tycho smiled gently. "Sure, boss. Sleep now and get some rest."

Winter wandered around, looking at some old holographs and felt, despite having been in Wedge's quarters once or twice before, like an intruder.  
Something in this quarters was not feeling right.  
The quarters lacked the feeling of home.  
Sure, there were some holos of Wedge's family here and there and some others, with his pilots: one was on Hoth and Wes, Hobbie, Wedge and Tycho grinned in the camera, all in winter whites and red noses. Nevertheless, it was not comfortable in here: after half an hour of packing, no one would notice, that somebody had ever lived in here.

Perhaps that was the reason, why Wedge worked so hard: he didn't really have anyone to turn to, no home to return to, he only had his best friends, who were the closest thing to a family he had. It was a sad feeling, that overcame Winter for a moment and she marvelled at how lucky she had been to find Tycho, in a time, when she had been feeling very much alone and had earned the reputation of an ice queen. But Tycho had dared to approach her nevertheless.  
But…she thought of her friend Iella and the mutual attraction, that existed between the both Corellians. Most surely, they would soon see reason…

Tycho finished tucking Wedge in and put a piece of flimsi on Wedge's nightstand, that explained his absence, even though they had official leave.  
This was also the reason, why he let Wedge sleep now.  
Tycho looked down at the stubborn Corellian for a last time, then smiled and left the room.

"Come on, Lady Winter. We shall explore the fields and meadows far from here, travelling with that roaring flying device."  
"Getting poetic, are we?" She smiled and took his hand.  
He blindfolded her again and she couldn't help but smile brightly.  
After some time her fingers had suddenly metal under them.

She was holding on to a ladder! "A X-Wing?" She spun around and almost lost her balance.  
"Woah-easy there." Strong arms encircled her.  
"Who said that my surprise is on Coruscant?"  
"But two persons- in one X-Wing?"  
"Why not love? I am not even smelling anymore, so you can't give me that elusion."  
"You cheeky pilot!"

Tycho merely laughed and helped her to get in the snubfighter, settling down behind her and took the blindfold off.  
After some pre-flight checks, he switched the inter-ship comlink on.

"Rogue two to control. Requesting departure clearance. Do you copy?"

_"Control copies, Colonel. May we inquire, when you are returning?"_

Tycho smiled, amused, recognizing the voice's owner to be that of a good friend of the Rogues.  
"In two or three days, control."

_"Rogue two, clearance granted. Have fun, Colonel."_

"Thanks, control. Celchu out."

He manoeuvred the X-wing smoothly out of the hangar and Winter gasped at the beauty of the sunrise over Coruscant.  
The skyscrapers' windows were shimmering in the sun and the clouds had the colour of fresh Corellian flowers.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" agreed Tycho lightly.

Coruscant flew by and with a light hand on the stick, Tycho punched in the coordinates for the computer. When they went into Hyperspace, the stars outside transformed into white lines, like the pearls on a never-ending chain.

* * *

Commenor was a beautiful planet.  
Steppes and large forests dominated its flora, but you could also find lakes, seas and golden-peppered strands.  
Large bushes, adorned with red and yellow flowers were scattered through the countryside.  
A flight of little red birds took wing, when the X-wing set down in a little clearing.  
Their irritated tweets and chirps could be still heard for a long time afterward.

"Tycho" asked Winter, when they disembarked.  
"Are you sure, that we are allowed to land here?"  
Tycho held her unwavering gaze unflinchingly.  
"It is always a question, of whether the existing rules make sense or not.  
You have to sort out your priorities. Imagine we were a freighter with 20 passengers.  
Of course we wouldn't land here you understand what I mean?"  
Winter nodded, never looking away. "I guess so" she said slowly.

"Do you trust me then?" There was no humour in Tycho's question now and Winter knew, that he wasn't really asking anymore about whether the landing of the X-wing here was legal or illegal.  
"I do" she said and she meant it.  
The grin on Tycho's face was a big and a relieved one. "Good . Let's go."

Winter took his hand. "Where are we going?"  
"You will see soon enough. I discovered this place on a patrol. I had some electronic difficulties and because I couldn't return to base, I had to fix them here."

He held his hands over her eyes and led her down a narrow path:  
"Forgot the blindfold, did we?"  
He sighed. "Oh- now the devastatingly beautiful and dangerous Agent Winter has made use of her intelligence and sharp wit and found out about my worst mistake!"  
He wailed, doing an incredible impression of Hobbie Klivian. "I am doomed!"

Winter wasn't about to be fooled.  
"Why" she retorted "did you forget it while you were busy preparing this incredible speedy, metallic-gleaming, red-striped, repulsor-equipped, loud-roaring and deadly flying device for our trip here to that hot, flies-frequented, grassy and blue skies-equipped planet?"

Tycho looked amused and a bit taken aback by her outburst. "Whatever you say, dear."  
Winter grinned. "Winter 1, Tycho 0."  
"That's simply because I am generous person."  
Winter opened her eyes and gasped.

They were standing on a little clearing.  
A waterfall with glistening pearls of water covered half of a huge rock.  
The other half was full of green plants and white flowers.  
Old trees surrounded the clearing. To their feet there were little plants with lilac fruits and red flowers.  
The air was clean, so unlike Coruscant's smog.

Winter took some hesitant steps forwards and her feet sunk in the green thick moss, leaving dark footprints.  
She laughed suddenly and did a little joy dance, startling some coloured butterflies, who flew around her head, making Winter jump like a little child, trying to catch them.  
She turned around to Tycho, seeing him smile at her antics.  
"Come on." She put her arms over cross and took his hands.  
She instructed him to lean back and they started to swing around in a circle, getting quicker and quicker, laughing and screaming like little children.  
Finally, they couldn't hold their balance anymore and collapsed in the moss, still laughing breathlessly.

"Leia and me used to do this when we were younger. One day, we did so and managed to fall into a fully-prepared dinner for some visitors. Bail Organa was furious."  
Winter laughed softly. "He was a good man."  
"That he was."  
Tycho pulled her close to his chest in a gesture of comfort.

Winter's hair had tumbled out of her bun and was now falling in soft white strands over her shoulders. She pushed him and he rolled over , taking her with him in his momentum.  
She gazed down at him, having stayed on the top during their little game.  
Tycho felt his throat constrict, thinking about how much she meant to him.  
"I love you" he murmured, kissing her nose "so much" he kissed her lips, pulling back gasping, "that it hurts."  
"I love you too."

"We have come a long way, haven't we?"  
"We have" Winter agreed lightly. "I remember, when I first saw you, dirty and sweaty-"  
"And when I first met you, a blaster in your hand,with that intimidating look in your eyes-"  
"I was so bitter in those times, so detached, but yet feeling so alone. I hurt you bad, didn't I?"  
"It wasn't the nicest feeling in the world, getting rejected by you, Winter" agreed Tycho and she hung her head.  
"I am sorry."

"Don't be" Tycho smiled. "We are here now, aren't we? Besides, I knew after that Tatooine incident, that I meant something to you."  
Winter fumed silently." I could still kill Wedge because of that, you know."  
"Secretly" Tycho said earnestly "he is still wary of your hand movements. I guess, you slapped him quite hard."  
Winter blushed furiously." I was _angry_, Tycho. I was so incredible mad at him."  
"At least you learned some pilot jargon. See it from the positive side."  
"Yes, but thinking that you were dead…"  
"But I am here now, Winter" Tycho pointed out steadfast.

"Think rather about the here and now than reminiscing about times past.  
Speaking of which…get up please" Tycho cleared his throat nervously.  
Winter glanced down at him expectantly.

Tycho tried to get himself under control, but his knees were weak and so he welcomed the traditional pose with one bent knee.  
Perhaps she couldn't see him trembling then.  
Sometimes even Intelligence agents have a lack of comprehension for the other humans.  
Winter didn't know what he was going to do, so she just stared at him puzzled, when he reddened further and cleared his throat over and over again.  
"Winter.""Yes?"

"I-ah-um- I wanted to ask you-would you…I mean…Marry me?"

She gasped."Yes!" she almost knocked him backwards when she launched herself at him.  
"Really?" Tycho asked, giddy like a child and not even mad about the slightly gone wrong proposal.  
"Yes, yes, yes" she shrieked again happily and her smile rivaled the brightness of the sun.  
Reverting to tradition again, Tycho asked her to get up again.

She did so and Tycho bowed his head, presenting her a thin golden ring with a single white flower on it.  
Every petal of the flower represented a part of Alderaan: upon a closer look one could see the different nuances of white. It was an old custom, carried out by survivors of Alderaan even after the planet's destruction.  
Tycho took her finger and slipped the ring over it.

"With that ring I pledge myself and my never-ending love to you."

Winter placed a hand over her own heart and touched his, feeling the steady beating and smiled, when his eyes met hers.

"Today, I give you my heart and gift you with my profound abiding love."

"Even if you had it all already" she added in a whisper, her eyes bright.

Tycho didn't answer, he just kissed her deeply.  
His hands moved further down.  
They didn't leave that night.

* * *

The next morning they were on their way to Coruscant again.  
"You must have planned this for a long time" the Intelligence agent and newly-soon-to-be-married lady smiled.  
" I did" confirmed Tycho. "But I forgot the breakfast, so we had to eat those rations bars, so it wasn't perfect."

"No" Winter disagreed, but she didn't mean the breakfast.  
"It is perfect, Tycho.."

So they returned to their respective duties and their normal, busy lives, but something had changed: They had brought a little piece of perfection with them.


	11. Wedge & Iella: Nothing but a friend

_Thanks for the review,** TriGemini**__I am glad that you liked it (Again such a long review- yay!) :D :D. Now there is even more about couples, but this time not so happy a story.  
**CeresMcClure, **awww, great, that I have made your day better. (Oh yeah, I definitely agree there with you. Tycho is good-looking, although I like dear Hobbie more )  
**silver brilliance, **no need to thank me. I love reading your story! It doesn't matter that you are a slow reader...it's wondeful that you like the story- take your time with it :D! And who doesn't love the Rogues :P?  
_

* * *

Nothing but a friend

"You are sure, you want me to stay?"  
She turned around to him and he saw in a mixture of shock and wild empathy, that there were teardrops caught in her long eyelashes.  
Like dewdrops they glittered in the light of the stars and he suppressed the urge to wipe them away, knowing that this would be too intimate a gesture, especially now. Especially here.

"Yes" she answered at last, and if there was a slight catch in her voice, he chose to ignore it, to look over it, even if they both knew it was only an empty, polite gesture.  
He allowed himself to step closer and lay a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.  
"I am sorry. He was a good man."  
She gave a short, bitter laugh at this and he wondered, whether it was naught but numbness she now felt at everything, even at his words.  
"That he was. And I murdered him."  
The pain in her voice was endless, her eyes like two watery graves, but her gaze was empty.  
He didn't know what to say and the knot in his throat didn't permit him to utter any words.

She turned around to face him again, the face impassive now and a mask of stone.  
He recognized the face, being an expert at hiding his feelings himself, as it was a neccessity in both of their professions, he knew, that she was putting up a wall between them.  
"Don't do this, Iella" he pleaded and was surprised at the intensity of his own voice.  
"Why?" she asked, blue eyes devoid of any emotion " I feel nothing. Nothing at all. It is as if life had given up on me."  
Quieter, she added: "Perhaps I should give up on life too."

Wedge couldn't hold it back, he grabbed her shoulders and shook them.  
"No! You can't do that, Iella."  
Again, this blue-eyed, impassive gaze. Wedge had seen much grief in the world already and had met many people with nightmare-filled lives- but Iella's eyes, who had been so clear and joyful before, to see her out of all people like this, made him want to cry.

"I am not planning on killing myself, Wedge. Too much of a mess to clean up. I simply wish-" She broke up, and when she spoke again, her voice was like the weak scream of a young bird, that has fallen out of his nest.  
"I wish I could apologize and tell him, that-that I love him."  
"But he forgave you, Iella. He did."  
"I-I-" Iella couldn't speak further.  
She buried her face in her hands and her next words were muffled:  
"I was so ignorant. I knew this could happen, but I would have even thought of myself to be turned, everyone, everyone but Diric!"  
"No one would have thought that Diric had been turned. But even after being broken, Iella, he loved you. And when he died, he saved this love. And he saved himself in the end."

"You're a good friend, Wedge" murmured Iella and wiped her tears away, leaving dirty smears on pale cheeks. Her next question surprised him.  
"Did you mean it, what you said to Diric, when he asked, if there was something between us?"  
Wedge took a deep breath and prepared himself for the sting of his own words.  
"I did, Iella, what I said, was true. I saw and see you as a friend, because then you were married and now-" he didn't speak further, willing her to understand.

She nodded and Wedge couldn't help but feeling as if a vibroblade had been thrust in his side.  
"He would want you to be happy, Iella" Wedge said and he meant his words, those which were floating unsaid between them in the air, too.  
_I could still love you, someday, Iella. _  
"I only wish he was here now."  
Then Iella simply let go. She let go and he was there for her, was strong, when she was not, was her bridge, when she was nothing but water, was her hope, when she was lost, and he was her light, when all she saw was darkness. A friend, Iella, nothing but a friend.

And then, when she sobbed in his shoulder and he held her trembling form, one might almost have forgotten the one unseen tear, that slid down his face and seeped in her hair.

* * *


	12. Haunted a Halloween story

_Thank you for the reviews, **TriGemini, CeresMcClure, The GummiBear** (great that I made you laugh)...and here's the Halloween part. Hope you enjoy it_

* * *

** Haunted-a Halloween story**

„The golden fountain" it said on the front sign. Who had placed it there, or when it had been placed there, no one could say. It was simply there. Some smiled at it, shook their heads, thinking it ridiculous that the barkeeper made it a daily ritual to clean the sign, straighten it out. "It's far too dark down here. No one ever sees the sign, man, except when you go outside with this ridiculous little lamp of yours. It's laughable, man." "It ain't" the bartender said in that slow drawl of the Outer Rim population. "It ain't." He always said that, even if it _was_: Everything was dark, here down in the lower areas of Coruscant. They were used to his answer, they just laughed and ordered another drink. Just another drink. The bartender knew them all, by heart, could do the movements when asleep: Whyren's Reserve, Lum, Alderaanian ale, Tatooine Cocktails… Shake them, and open them, not too slow, not too quick, gotta look dignified, pour them in the glasses. Another drink. As long as they were paying, he didn't mind. He gave them whatever they ordered.

If anyone had ever asked, what he thought of his bar patrons, he would have given it long thought. Then- if the one, who had asked, still cared for an answer, the bartender would have answered. Slow and meticulous, he would have answered. „There are different kinds of patrons" he would say. „There are the Melancholiacs. They order their drink and sit in the corner. Brooding. They're troubled. They drink, but not too much. So much, that they can still feel their pain,you know? They hold on to that pain for dear life. It's what defines them- their misery. They are afraid to let go, afraid of living without that pain. Afraid of life. They are often here."

He would make a pause, regarding the blue smoke, that always seemed to hang in the air, no matter how often he cleaned the place.

"Then there are the Angered ones. They drink quickly, not enjoying their drinks. When they talk, their voices are like water: quick, careless, unstoppable. They drink, pay and go. They don't come again. A night in a bar, drinking your anger away- they only do it once, then there are somewhere else again, getting in new fights, getting anew frustrated over the silliness of life."

The barkeeper would make another pause, letting the listener watch him.

„There are also the Forgotten ones. They are forgotten by the rest of the world, but they haven't forgotten the rest of the world. They come here to forget. But it never works- and it never will."

Then the bartender would fall silent again, and the questioner would fall silent, stand up, push his stool back- it would make scraping sounds, they always made scraping sounds- and then he would close the door and go back in his life, thinking about the barkeeper's words. But no one ever asked and he never spoke, he just listened.

He stood there and listened to the people, cleaning dirty glasses with an equally dirty rag. He remembered, what the people told him. It was his hobby, collecting stories.He collected them, like other people collected pebbles or jewelry. The stories were his gems, which the people gave to him, every evening myriads of them were added to his collection, and he stuffed them in his pockets. But no matter how small these gems were, even small pebbles can sink a boat, when there are too much. And no matter how small and insignificant the stories, there were a lot of them, and so it was no wonder, that he was a bit more gaunt over the course of the years, that his back was a little more bent, and that the shadows under his eyes were a bit darker.

It cost him more of an effort to go out every day and clean the sign "Golden Fountain". And it was one of the nights, when it had gotten especially bad, that he first saw the man. The man wasn't young anymore. He looked, as if he had been young in the year 0 BBY, and that had been long ago, ages, in which the universe had been turned more than once. The bartender looked him over. The man wore finer clothing, dark slacks and a clean shirt.

He was constantly sitting in a straight posture, back straight, dark eyes darting about warily. Ex-Military, the bartender thought. Satisified, that he had managed to enforce some sort of category on the man, he assessed him again. But to his frustration, the old barkeeper found, that he couldn't place him in one of the other categories, the categories he would have explained, if someone had ever listened.

These categories had never failed. Every being fell in one of them, some more, some less.Some could be put in two, others in even three of them. But the man couldn't be put in a category. His face was blank. He didn't broadcast any thoughts. He ordered Ralltiirian wine the first night. His accent was Ralltiirian, too.

The bartender thought then, that he had gotten a grasp of the man now- some homesick native of Ralltiir, traipising around the galaxy and wanting to remember home a bit.

But in the the next evening, the man was there again. He ordered Alderaanian Ale, and when he said "Alderaanian" the bartender heard that accent; gentle like summer wind and long forgotten tales of a long-lost planet.

The bartender had never met anyone like that man before, and he was intrigued. The man was always polite. When the other bar patrons grunted, laughed or just outright ignored him, the man said: "Thank you." One eve the bartender decided to make the man drunk, make him a bit looser. He was frustrated, that the man still eluded his firm people knowledge. The man accepted the free drinks.

And then he spoke. "You're doing this, so you can add my story to your collection, huh? Trying to make me lose it. It doesn't matter. You got a lot of ghosts in here, so it doesn't matter anyway. I will just add some ghosts." The bartender felt ashamed, for the first time in years. But he didn't speak.

The man continued, his voice shrouded with that slight wisp of alcohol, the forgiving mistress.

"I have a lot of ghosts with me, but I doubt, you would want all of them to be in here with you- the bar is too small for so many ghosts. No, I will tell you the story of four brothers. They weren't brothers by birth, you see. They joined the Rebellion, and eventually, they became brothers. They were as unlike as real brothers, and force knows" the man laughed and the laughter made the dead, dark eyes sparkle " they were often enough arguing. But they never let that divide them. They stuck to each other, through the ugliest of fights, that the enemy decided to throw at them. One was the born leader. He was constantly watching out for the other three, constantly worrying for them and his men. The others were loyal to him, they went through fire and death for him. The second brother was very calm and just. He looked out for the first brother, whenever the man was worrying too much about the others, but not about himself. You could come to him with any problem, and he would solve it for you, giving comfort here and applying a little dry humour there. The third brother" here the man took a long swig from his Ale and the dark eyes clouded over "was a mischief maker. An awful prankster with a childish imagination, but when you needed him, he was there. Always. And whenever the situations became too serious, he was there to lighten them up."

The man paused for a long time and the bartender asked finally, ignoring the ruckus that his free drinks had caused among his clientele: "Who was the fourth brother?"

The man set his glass down. "The fourth brother was a pessimist. Sometimes he was truly pessimistic, sometimes he played the part to make the others laugh. He often got in trouble together with the third brother. The others weren't too thrilled, and he wasn't either, but he went along anyway. He loved them, you see? He tried to look out for them. And for a long time, everything was just fine. The foursome lived to see the destruction of the Second Death star. They lived to see Leia Organa-Solo become Head of State. They lived through all that. The first brother commanded their squadron, and the second brother was his XO, while the other two were the next-lower ranking officers. They were indivisible, facing desperate fights and coming out alive. Then the fourth brother made a mistake. They were called by the first brother, now a General, if they could fetch him and the Colonel from spaceport, since they didn't have a speeder with them. The fourth brother was lazy that day- he didn't want to drive. So he asked the third brother to do it."

The man looked up from the glass with the swirling liquor- Tanaabian lum it was now and some of the golden liquid seemed to have seeped into his eyes, because they were unfocussed and swimming.

"The third brother complied. When he went to the door, he still turned around a last time, and said with that mischief in his voice, always mischief, but always good-natured mischief: "You know, I am lookin' forward to their faces when they see that I brought Lt Kettch with me." The bartender didn't know who Lt.Kettch was, but he didn't ask- the man was too far gone anyway.

"That was the last time he saw him. That was the last time he heard from them. There was an accident. A simple, stupid, stupid accident. This wasn't-wasn't how it was supposed to go."

The man's voice was getting quieter.

"They were supposed to go out like shooting stars, the whole lot of 'em. Not like that. Never like that. Of course the speeder's driver, a Twi'Lek was apologetic. They couldn't understand, all of 'em. It should 'ave happened differently. Always on each others wings, that was how they were supposed to go."

Now he was swaying dangerously, but he didn't even seem to notice.

"The fourth brother was left over with the shards of his destroyed world. Literally, his world. He hadn't known that losing a world would be painful. Of course they didn't blame him. They never did. But he saw it in the faces of those who had loved them. He had loved them, too. After a while he couldn't stand their faces anymore, wanted to tell them to shout accusations at him, wanted them to say something hurtful. Maybe he felt as if he would deserve it. Of course they never did. So he retired from active service- of course he heard the comments "He's a broken man, the Major" and he still couldn't understand why no one seemed to get, that it had been his fault. Last I heard of him, he was spending his life pitifully, visiting bars, drinking too much, hiding away from everyone…what a life…But if I ever see him again, mister, I'll tell him of your bar. It's a good place."

The bartender looked around, saw the smoke hanging in the air, still there!, saw his clientele half-hanging, half-sitting in their seats, saw the dirt on his glasses.

"I am not too sure of tha'" he said, but when he looked up, the man had gotten up with a surprisingly steady grip on the top of the counter.

Then the bartender felt for the first time in so many years, that he should say something. Maybe that man wasn't supposed to be put in a category after all, maybe he was a whole category for himself. "Sir" he called out, and it felt strange to him, to feel the sir roll of his tongue, a tongue, which was used to expressions like lad, git, lass, kriffin' drunks, stupid nerfherder…But the man simply wasn't. He deserved a sir, and the bartender had always been correct in his assumptions.

The man looked at him, and for the first time, the barkeeper saw, that his eyes were in fact a deep brown, so deep, that you could drown in them. The bartender was about to say "It wasn't your fault, sir" but the words wouldn't fit on his tongue, and so he said something else. "May the force be with you, sir." The man looked at him with those deep eyes, and for a moment, the drunken veil was gone, for a moment of clarity, leaving behind shards of a life, reflected in his eyes.

Then he said quietly: "And with you."

He shut the door, leaving the bartender alone with a murky bar, the strong waft of alcohol and the broken glasses on the floor.The bartender never saw him again.

* * *

High, high up in one of the skyscrapers, so high that it kissed the stars, was a news announcer hastily preparing for the evening show. Then a messenger showed up, out of breath, with a data pad in his shaking hand.

"Just got that in" he said, panting, holding his sides.

The news announcer eyed him sternly with black , unblinking eyes, took the datapad, used a long-fingered hand to comb her welly hair and started her show.

"We got some breaking news. Today morning, Major Derek "Hobbie" Klivian passed away.

Iella Antilles, wife of the late Antilles only said a sentence to his death, but we felt that it was significant sentence. Iella Antilles, a beautiful woman with grey hair, that still had some blond strands in it, could be seen on the screen. She had tears in her eyes, but her voice was strong._ "May he fly forever…"_

The announcer droned on, over the Major's received medals, his achieved successes….

Deep, deep down in one of the skyscrapers, so deep, that it was close to Coruscant's earth or what once had been a planet's surface, a bartender was cleaning dirty glasses, preparing himself for the new night.

When the news came in, he paused and looked at the screen.

It showed four men in orange flight suits, grinning widely in the holocamera.

And he was there too, on the left, serious face relaxed and split in a cheeky grin, careless, free.

The bartender took his still-dirty glass up and saluted the man on the picture.

"Now, see, you've become a shootin' star nevertheless, sir…"

* * *


	13. Heroes of another kind

_Perhaps the last update in this year. I hope you all had happy holidays and I wish you a great new year! _**_  
_**_Thank you__ for your support_** _I_****_hasabukkit, silver brillance _**_and of course_**_ TriGemini_**_! Where would I be without you guys:D _

_Sachita (-;_

* * *

**Heroes of another kind**

**

* * *

**

She has always had heroes. Growing up, her mother invented all those stories for her and her heroes were shining knights in equally shining armours, who used their magical powers to defeat the Rancor and free the princess. The Princess though was never helpless in her mind. She could kick asses as well as the men, but she had inconveniently managed to get in a spot of trouble.

Her new Heroes may not look like knights in shining armour, but they are equally as wonderful.

It doesn't matter that Major Janson is a terrible prankster and flirt, it doesn't matter that Major Klivian's pessimism practically oozes out of his pores, it doesn't matter that Colonel Celchu's calm control makes her feel as if she's talking to a block of ice sometimes and it doesn't matter that General Antilles's morning moods are worse than those of an irate Wampa.

They're heroes in her eyes. Not necessarily for what they have done, of course, everyone knows that General Antilles has flown through the Death star itself and destroyed it- the victories of Rogue Squadron are legendary- but she admires them because of what she sees in them. They keep on fighting when others would have given up long ago. Often she's ashamed to look them in the eyes.

That's because...she stares at her stained hands. Not with blood of course. That would be far too dramatic, and not to add, unhygienic in her profession. Her hands are stained with soup and her movements have almost become automatic now. She can hand out the daily meal to the Soldiers without problems. Save when it comes to the Rogues. Yes, she's ashamed. She's just a lowly kitchen worker and they're fighter pilots. They go on all the dangerous missions. They risk their life twice a week- and what does she do? She tries to avoid being fried by her oven and has problems when one of the newest meat additions, a kind of chicken-like creature fresh from Dantooine somehow manages to escape the butcher and she has to chase it around the kitchen. That's what she does.

Do you understand me now, huh? That's what she would offer if someone ever asked.

Then, one day it happens. A young Sergeant, Infantry by the look of it, carelessly brushes past her, almost knocking her over. She has a pile of plates in her arms and she numbly watches how they tumble to the floor. Shards of china all over the place and over her feet.

The cleaners will have a field day.

The Sergeant doesn't turn around again.

She doesn't want to call out for him. Someone else does instead.

"Hey, you! Yes, you Sergeant!" She stares, in shock. It's Wes, Major Janson, but in her mind she's always been on first-name-base with them. Not as if she would ever tell them, of course.

The Sergeant turns around. "Major!"

"Don't you think you owe the Lady an apology?"

The Sergeant glances at her. "Sir, I don't think-"

"Well, but I do, Sergeant." Steel glare is firmly in place.

"Fine, sir" the Sergeant murmurs and says: "I am sorry."

When he bends down to pick up the shards, Major Janson dismisses him with a hand wave and a cutting glare. "We'll help her."

"Yes, sir."

She sits already on the floor, picking up the shards. A hand is suddenly next to her, helping her. She turns around and looks in bright blue eyes. "Colonel!" Her hand flies to her mouth. "You don't have to help me!"

"Oh, my mother taught me better than that" he says and he's so close that she can see the twinkle in his eyes.

"Your Mum taught you that?" Wes crouches down next to them. "My Mum tried to teach me how to cook and she and my sisters terrorised me without a break."

"I am sure you did something to deserve it, Wes." Tycho's voice is amused.

"Did not." Wes pauses dramatically and picks up a shard. "Oh, the razor-sharp beauty of those shards of a life, these broken china shards of a plate's short life…" he sings dramatically.

Tycho glares but snickers. She almost does so too, but she composes herself quickly.

"Were did you learn to glare like that anyway?"

"Learned it from Wedge."

Wes smiles at her, picks up some last shards to throw them in the dust bin and announces finally: "If you ever need help again, beautiful Lady, don't hesitate to call on your personal knight, Wes Janson." She nods and isn't sure what she's supposed to say, but then he has already left, a wink to her and a mock salute to Colonel Celchu, who's still sitting next to her.

Again, she is surprised by the intensity of his blue eyes on her, when she turns around.

"You know" he says " maybe you think us all to be so great and heroic and whatever. But you must know, that you are a heroine to me too."

That's hard to believe and she averts her eyes, feeling as if he's making fun of her.

"No, no" he insists" I am serious. I mean, where would we be without our daily food?" He smiles. "Believe me, you're as much a hero as anyone else. You do the best you can and contribute to this universe as well as you can. Give me a pastry recipe and order me to make it, I'd be helpless."

He changes the topic abruptly. "What's your name?"

"Melina Anders, sir."

He nods thoughtfully. "Melina Anders, heroine of the kitchen. What do you think?"

"Sounds great." She smiles and he eyes her. "Oh and by the way, if you need some help on a relaxed day, maybe I can sic Hobbie on you to help you in the kitchen."

Melina smiles fully, dimples showing. "I'll be sure to include you in the job too, sir."


	14. H Klivian & W Janson: Roguish Troubles

_Hi! Still alive here (-; I hope you had a good start in the new year- well, it isn't so new anymore now- and that everything is going well for all of you. (And hopefully you haven't caught one of the awful flus, which are everywhere at the moment- they're really a nuisance!)_

_So, a new chapter, about Wes and Hobbie, nothing particularly philosophical or sad __...just the two pranksters. _

_Thanks for the reviews- **TriGemini**, **Demon** and of course **silver brillance**- as always I loved them! _

_-Sachita _

* * *

**Roguish Troubles**

**

* * *

**

Wes knocked on Hobbie's office door. No one responded. Wedge, who happened to pass by, shook his head at him: "He took a day off today." Wes spun around. "He did?" "Yeah," Wedge said , bemused."Why?" "He didn't tell me," Wes murmured and turned around, walking back the corridor from where he had come from, a frown on his face. Wedge shook his head at him and went on with his duties.

Hobbie walked morosely through Coruscant's many shops. He didn't really know what to do. He had taken this day off, because he really didn't want to talk with Wes, not after what had happened yesterday.

Maybe he should buy something for his cousin back home on Ralltiir – she would love to get something from Coruscant, she loved the capital planet. He had asked her, why she wouldn't come live here then, but she had shaken her head at him and had said, that someone needed to take care of his aunt, her mother, and besides, she didn't enjoy the air in Coruscant that was so unlike Ralltiir's fresh air. Hobbie had lowered his head, ashamed, but she had gently told him, that he shouldn't worry about her. She was alright with her life like that, and he had his job, his friends there in Rogue Squadron…She had told him that she would be okay, but he still felt guilty sometimes.

Speaking of friends..Hobbie snorted and gazed at his wrist and the red imprints left from Wes's hand.

He still remembered those drunken words, Wes had thrown at his head:

* * *

"_You kissed Inyri! I saw it!"_  
"_I didn't" he shouted back. "I was merely giving her a hug and comforting her because she was upset. And she was upset because you were an idiot and treated her like rubbish!" Instead of seeing the truth behind Hobbie's words, Wes yelled back and Hobbie could smell the alcohol on his breath: "Don't lie to me! Some friend you are!"_  
"_I am not lying to you! Why would I kiss Inyri!"_  
"_Oh yeah- you aren't even admitting to it! You know what? You're a terrible friend and I don't want to talk to you again!" _

_That last retort made Hobbie pause for a long moment. Then he said quietly: "As you wish, Wes. I won't disturb your Highness any longer." _

_But there was no humor in his answer and he didn't even turn around, when he heard Wes shout: "Hobbie!"_

_

* * *

_

And so, he was here now, wandering through Coruscant and trying to forget how much it had hurt to hear those words from Wes. Wes, whom he loved like a brother, Wes, who had gone through so much with him already. Wes had been drunk of course and probably hadn't meant what he had said, but Hobbie still couldn't face him now. He felt depressed, even more than his usual dour self- the dourness was sometimes a mask for him that served as well as Wes's joker attitude.

He sighed . _You're behaving stupidly, Klivian. Like a child. _

He didn't know, how long he had sat on that park bench, where his steps had taken him, until someone said:

"You should be careful. The red-striped Manja is loose here in the area."

Not really listening, Hobbie answered,without looking up:

"If you would be so kind, please, sir, to leave me alone. I really don't feel like making new acquaintances now, sorry."

"You don't even want to meet the red-striped Manja?"

Hobbie looked up. Sure, enough, there was Wes, a stuffed ewok in his hands and an apologetic, uncomfortable grin on his face.

"Go away, Wes" he said tiredly.

Wes didn't go away. He plopped down next to Hobbie and the next two minutes were spent with staring at the ground.

"So, what do we do now? Staring at the ground for the rest of our life?" Wes asked, never having been one to be able to stay silent for more than two minutes.

"Why not?" Hobbie said tightly, not wanting to talk to Wes.

Wes sighed too. "Fine. Let's be morose together."

After only a second, he said, sighing: "I am morose, morose, morose, dour and not talking. My name is Hobbs 2. I am a clone. "

Then he made a grimace.

Hobbie didn't even look at him.

Then Wes said: "In case, you don't know, Hobbs, that was the rest of the 'verse, protesting against having to deal with two superb-pessimists now. Just imagine what Wedge will say!" Hobbie couldn't help it: a small, small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

* * *

Wes was just about to go on, when suddenly a large Wookiee grabbed him from behind and roared something in Shriiwook at him. "Hey, hey, hey" yelled Wes, when he was lifted in the air. "I don't understand Shriiwook, buddy." Hobbie had jumped up, too, when a creepy-looking man addressed him from behind: "He said, that you're pilots of Rogue Squadron. Very famous one at that. Many people will pay a lot for your heads. That's why you're coming with us now."

The Wookiee had dragged the protesting Wes in a narrow side alley, and with Wes being in such a helpless position and the blaster pistol pointed at his head, Hobbie had no choice but follow. Their blasters had been taken- of course- Hobbie hadn't thought they'd make it so easy for them. Conveniently there were no people on the street, but Hobbie didn't doubt, that behind the windows of the buildings on both sides, there were some people. Watching, waiting, but not really caring- here on Coruscant everyone was alone responsible for his survival.

_Not good_, Hobbie thought, when he analyzed their situation. There was a speeder waiting for the headhunters and them. Two black-clads were sitting in there: a human and a Rodian. _I can't let them force us in the speeder,_ Hobbie thought frantically.

He turned around suddenly, twisted the man's blaster out of his hand and, quicker before the headhunter could react, he fired two blast shots. The human crumpled to the ground, and mad with rage, the Wookiee threw Wes aside like a rag doll and then came charging at Hobbie. The two other headhunters were coming closer too, blasters in their hands. Hobbie quickly double-pressed a button on his comlink, a help-call to the other Rogues, or the "eject-button for all situations of everyday life", how his comrades called it jokingly. This button initiated an alarm on a low frequency, that would hopefully alert Rogue Squadron's Central computer and then would be transmitted to everyone's comlink. Hobbie hoped that someone would locate the signal quick enough. He fired a double-blast at the Wookiee, who simply dodged the blast.

Hobbie risked a look to his side.

Wes had been thrown against a wall and was now lying on the ground, groaning quietly.

Hobbie fired again and sought shelter behind some crates.  
_This could turn out to be bad_, he thought. He focused on the two other headhunters again and fired on them. The Rodian fell on the ground, but Hobbie had no time to be relieved, because he was suddenly grabbed from behind and lifted off of the ground.

The Wookiee had grabbed his foot and was now swinging him around merrily, Hobbie hanging upside-down.

Everything was blurring before his eyes to a big, blotchy image. Hobbie only had enough time to think: _This is the end then_ when suddenly a huge wall appeared in front of him. Then everything was black.

* * *

He woke up in a bacta tank. Dazed and without any orientation, he looked around and was relieved, when he was pulled out of the green, thick liquid. After taking his obligatory shower and slipping in some clothes, he went outside, the bacta taste still strong on his tongue. Sure enough, there was Wedge along with Tycho, Corran and Inyri waiting for him.

Tycho, Wedge and Corran slapped his back, Inyri slapped his cheek.

Wes lowered his head in shame. "Sorry. I know I deserved it. I am sorry."

"You have already apologized, Wes and I forgave you. That slap was for treating Hobbie like that," Inyri said, her eyes softening.

"Yeah, I know" Wes mumbled, evading her eyes. "That's what I went to talk with him about. Before we could finish our talk however, we were rudely interrupted."

Wedge laughed. "If I had known this would happen when I gave you and Hobbie a day leave at the same time, I would have never done so."

"Well" Wes imitated the tone of a teacher "now you've learned your lesson, little Wedge. Do your homework the next time."

Everyone laughed and the tension in the room dissipated.

* * *

Wes, however, stopped laughing after some seconds. His eyes were drawn to the other bacta tank at the back of the room. He walked quietly over and rested a hand on the glass. Hobbie was limply floating in the bacta, his eyes were closed and the faint motions of the swirling bacta played with his sandy hair. Wes looked down at his friend's side and winced.

The bruises had almost faded but Wes could still see how angry and red they had been.

"He had a blaster burn, some broken rips and a severe concussion" Wedge said quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You had some bruised and broken rips too. The Rodian was dead, when we arrived, as was a human male. We stunned the Wookiee and the other human. They're now under police arrest."

Wes nodded quietly. "I am sorry, that this all happened. I was no big help to Hobbie."

Wedge gave him a slap on the back. "Don't make yourself smaller than you are, Wes. It happens to the best of us."

Wes nodded and gazed motionless up at Hobbie's face.

* * *

_Two hours later…_

The medics had informed them , that they would pull Hobbie out now, and so they waited for Hobbie to arrive in the little waiting lounge. They didn't have to wait for a long time, then Hobbie was heading for them with his usual dour expression, but Wes hadn't ever been happier to see his face and this expression. It meant that everything would be alright.

"Hey, Hobbs," Tycho said . "Welcome back."

"Thanks, Tych," Hobbie said and he was hugged by the other squadron members. When it was Inyri's turn, she whispered in his ear: "Everything will be alright now, Hobbie."

Hobbie nodded and she released him.

Wes was still standing in the corner of the room, smiling awkwardly. The others left the room, sensing that the two had to work out the tension between them alone.

Wes spoke first. " I am sorry, Hobbie. For constantly getting you in trouble, for yelling at you, for being such a bad friend."

Hobbie actually smiled. Wes's words felt wonderful. He had known that Wes hadn't meant his words, but actually hearing that know out of said man's mouth, felt better.

"You have already been corny enough, Wes" he said, grinning slightly, "But don't you think, something is amiss? "

"What?" Wes said, taking him completely serious.

"Apologizing to me for getting thrown around by a Wookiee."

"Hey," Wes said, but the typical Janson-grin was on his face.

"I am not responsible for everything, y'know. Still sorry, your Highness."

"Thank you" Hobbie said mock stiff-sounding.

Wes laughed and drew him in a tight hug.

"Love you bro" he whispered quietly, sounding quite embarrassed.

"Love you too, bro" Hobbie whispered back.

He knew, eventually they would be alright. As always.


	15. Hobbie Klivian: Cold

_Hi everyone. Yes, I'm still alive and here's a new chapter. Only a short one, but I am at the moment also writing something longer, which will be updated soon. I hope you like it nevertheless. Thank you **TriGemini** (where would I be without your support), **silver brilliance**(don't worry about it, I am super busy with school too) and **solo by choice** (oh, sorry I made you cry :hugs:) for the great reviews!_ Sachita

* * *

_**Cold**_

* * *

He tries hard to keep his teeth from chattering, when he exits his X-wing per a ladder that a quick tech has thoughtfully placed there.

He is kriffing cold and he barely notices, how much his hands shake, when he takes down his helmet.

"Should we get the temperature regulator of the X-wing checked, sir?"a small voice asks to his left.

Hobbie gives the over-eager technician a small, humourless smile.

"Temperature regulator functions the way it's supposed to," he answers tightly.

The tech looks surprised. "But you're cold, sir!"

Hobbie just shrugs and leaves the tech to his work, slowly making his way to the post-mission briefing room. Kriff cold.

He smirks again humorlessly. Well, how was the technician supposed to understand, that the problem is not the X-wing but he, Hobbie ?

He sits down, listens to Wedge talking and tries again to warm himself up by rubbing his hands against his uniformed upper arms- to no avail. Finally Wedge is finished and Hobbie gets up, wishing to be out of here already.

He shivers again and walks outside.

Today they had had a ground-mission. Fly down to the planet, evacuate some civilians, destroy some TIE bombers. Not too hard a mission.

A newbie died today, that's what makes it a hard mission.

Hobbie can still smell the copper waft of blood, that was in the air, while he was desperately pressing down some bacta bandages on the newbie's damaged body, whispering reassurances all the while, reassurances that he didn't believe in himself.

The med droid assured him that he had done well, as well as he could, but Hobbie simply can't shake off the feeling that they are both excellent liars.

He is outside of the Headquarters now, looking at the beauty of the sunset over Coruscant.

It paints the skyscrapers a vivid orange and a fiery red and Hobbie wraps his arms around himself and shivers some more.

He decides to head back in, to Wes's and his quarters. As soon as he's inside he wraps himself in the Starfighter Command standard issue blanket, which is supposed to keep you warm in even the most dire of circumstances. It doesn't do any good for him and he wonders why.

Aw, kriff, _who_ is he kidding?

He hasn't been warm since he joined the Rebels, hasn't been warm since he has enlisted.

Not real warm at least. Not so warm that he has been able to relax fully.

Hobbie tightens the blanket around his shoulders and wonders if he will ever be.

* * *


	16. Hobbie Klivian: Jimmy

Thank you so much for your reviews, **TriGemini**, **Bukkit **and **Rosa**! I was so happy to get them.

And as promised, a new chapter. I hope you like it (-;

Sachita

* * *

**_JIMMY_**

Hobbie doesn't like to remember the time he spent at the Imperial Academy on Prefsbelt IV.

„Too many bad memories," he always answers evasively, when asked.

But when Hobbie remembers the Academy, he always thinks of Jimmy.

"Who is Jimmy?" Wes asks.

Hobbie gives his friend a sidelong glance. They sit on the balcony of their shared apartment on Coruscant in their pyjamas - Hobbie has been able to sleep in his bed without having to relocate to the couch for once- Wes hasn't brought any female _company_ with him yesterday evening, thank God- and he has been looking forward to a relaxing breakfast and now Wes comes with such a question.

"You talk in your sleep," Wes explains.

"So…who is Jimmy? Or is it a case of me not wanting to know?"

Hobbie stares at him. What…Oh.

"No," he says defensively. "Nothing of _that _sort."

Wes eyes him. "Who's Jimmy then, Hobbs?"

Hobbie sighs. Wes can be annoying, when he wants to. Of course, Corran would say that Wes is always annoying, but that's not the point.

"Okay," he replies evenly. "I will tell you."

Wes perks up.

"At the Academy," Hobbie begins without beating around the bush, "the new recruits were always taunted and ridiculed, sometimes even brutalised by some of the older recruits. They saw it as a sort of welcome ceremony. It didn't bother me much, until one day…"

* * *

**_Prefsbelt IV, 2 BBY_**

_A row of clean-shaven heads, young, determined faces._

_All of them were wearing uniform, a black one._

_"Attention!" a man standing in front of them snapped._

_They came to attention, all of them at once._

_"Good morning, Recruits!"_

_"Good morning, sir!" they yelled, still in unison._

_"Today we will be running our training course again."_

_Irritation in some faces, but no one dared to say something._

_"Squad leaders, take your squads and move out to the changing rooms. You have five minutes."_

_Hobbie's squad leader was Tycho Celchu._

* * *

"Honestly?" Wes interrupts. "Tych was your Squad leader?"  
"Yeah," Hobbie replies absentmindedly.

"Why did you two never say anything ?"  
Hobbie looks up: "Water under the bridge, Wes, Water under the bridge."

* * *

_Minutes later they had their sports gear on. If anything, the Imperial Academy taught you efficiency._

_Hobbie silently ran next to Biggs, eyes straight ahead. Tycho clapped his hands, shouting: "Come on, come on, I know you can do better than that!"So, they ran faster, if only to irk the others._

_Suddenly, there was a soft, almost timid voice next to Hobbie, asking to run with them and he turned around immediately, because a timid person at the Academy…well, let's say they didn't speak up often._

_It was a new recruit, a "freshegg", how some of the other recruits liked to call them._

_Hobbie couldn't be called like that anymore, in fact, it was his last year at the Academy, until he would head out to lasers, destruction and war._

_It was not an easy job, being a TIE- pilot, but it meant glory, braveness and it was the right thing to do._

* * *

"You really thought that?" Wes sounds incredulous.

"Yes," Hobbie nods and looks at him warily.

Wes seems to know his thoughts. "Hey, don't worry. I am not holding anything that you thought ages ago against you now."

Hobbie grins relieved. He has known, that Wes doesn't hold it against him, but he has had marginal doubts.

"Well, go on, Hobbie!"

* * *

_Hobbie shook himself out of his reverie and opened his mouth to answer the young recruit , but Tirl Moorn, an especially cruel recruit beat him to it._

_"Who do we have here? It's a freshegg, look folks, a freshegg! A lost freshegg! Hmm…should we notify the Commander?"_

_Hobbie didn't know where his sudden anger came from, but maybe it had something to do with the hunched shoulders of the young recruit and his fearful eyes._

_"Leave him alone, Moorn! He got a bit lost, so what? We simply send him back to the other new ones."_

_Tirl gave Hobbie an angry glance. "You can stop trying to help him, Klivian. This is none of your business."_

_"Oh, I'd like to think that it is," Hobbie countered angrily, even as Moorn's minions threateningly lined up next to him._

_"Well, what if I do something to your beloved Freshegg here?"_

_Moorn twisted the young recruit's arm and took him in a headlock, despite his struggles- Moorn simply had the better training._

_Tycho shouted at them to stop, but this wasn't about reason anymore, it was about control and who called the shots. They were still running._

_Hobbie sped up and he would have reached Moorn and his "hostage", when Moorn suddenly stumbled and fell. If he hadn't looked so attentively, Hobbie would have missed Tycho's leg shooting out, but so he hadn't and he knew the reason, why Moorn had fallen. He wasn't about to say so however. Instead, he offered the young recruit a hand up, showing him, where the other new recruits were running._

_Turning around, he caught Tycho's cold stare and he raised an eyebrow, daring the other man to tell him what he had done wrong._

_Tycho said, never once taking his eyes off Hobbie: "KP duty for the next two weeks. Both of you."_

* * *

"Tych did that?"

Hobbie shrugs. "He was a very strict squad leader, and kriff, I know I deserved a punishment. He was still cold to me for quite some time after the incident."  
Wes stared at him. "But you only did what was right! The Moorn guy deserved this!"

"Well, yeah." Hobbie shrugs again. "But you know about Tycho's belief in control. He was of the opinion, that I should have controlled myself better."  
Wes sighs. "Well, yes, Tych is like that sometimes, so yeah. So, what happened then?"

* * *

_Later that day, when Hobbie was in his quarters, that he shared with Biggs, there was a hesitant knock on the door._

_"Come in," he called and a person hesitantly made its way in his room. It was the young recruit from before._

_"Sir," he said, " I wanted to thank you."_

_Hobbie smiled. "It's okay. Moorn had it coming anyway."_

_"If there is anything I can do.."_

_The recruit's blue eyes were wide and clear underneath his shorn dark hair._

_"Well," Hobbie smiled again. "For starters, you could tell me your name, and then we could talk a little, if you want. I am Derek Klivian, but everyone calls me Hobbie."_

_The recruit grinned. "I know. James Grange, but everyone calls me Jimmy."_

* * *

"You smiled a lot back then," Wes accuses suddenly. "You never do so now."

"I was a different person back then," Hobbie answers.

Wes grins. "Still, you can give me a little smile now. C'mon, Hobbs."

Hobbie shows his teeth and sticks out his tongue.

Wes just laughs and Hobbie is glad, that he hasn't pursued the matter further, but then he realises how much it can also be in Wes's interest that they don't talk about that topic anymore. That would only lead them to the topic of wearing masks, and they both know, that Wes is an expert on that area.

"C'mon, Hobbs, do I have to tell you every time? Go on!"

* * *

_So Hobbie and Jimmy talked for a long time and they found that they could talk about a lot of things._

_Jimmy was a nice boy, almost too nice to be a soldier, or at least Hobbie thought so._

_Everyone loved him, they couldn't help it. Whenever carefree Flight Officer Jimmy Grange came along, everyone smiled._

_And Hobbie found, that Jimmy brightened his mood, like no one had ever done before, so he found himself looking forward to each spent hour with the younger man. Jimmy was like the little brother he never had and Jimmy probably saw in Hobbie a mentor._

_One day they were sitting in the Mess Hall and had breakfast. Hobbie often had breakfast with the boy now, he wanted to protect him from Moorn's wrath and secondly, just because. Because._

_"What are your reasons for joining the Empire?" Hobbie asked around a mouthful of cereals, just because he was interested._

_"Peace," Jimmy answered and Hobbie promptly choked._

_He let the spoon sink and stared at his dialogue partner disbelievingly._

_"Let me get this straight. You join the Imperial Academy to become a TIE-pilot, a** combat** pilot, because you want to bring **peace**?"  
"Yes," Jimmy answered simply._

_Hobbie snorted. "And tomorrow Instructor Fel's gonna walk around with a wreath of flowers on his head."_

_Jimmy looked hurt and Hobbie comprehended that he had been earnest._

_When he wanted to push his chair back and get up, Hobbie grabbed his wrist._

_"James, wait. I am sorry. Tell me about it."_

_Jimmy sat back down. "You see, if we can reform the Empire from within…"_

* * *

"He really thought so?" Wes is amazed.

"Yes." Hobbie nods. "And I believed him. It was an interesting idea. At least I believed, that perhaps it could really work, until one day…"

He looks at the brilliant sunrise that illuminates Coruscant's skyscrapers.

* * *

_They had their free day and Biggs and he were lying outside in the grass, shading their eyes against the sun._

_"Who's training up there?"_

_"The newbies, I believe," Biggs said sleepily and the both looked after the TiEs, which were training in pairs, their flight sluggish in the atmosphere of the planet._

_Then, it happened._

_A TIE broke out from the formation, crashing in another TIE._

_It was a matter of seconds. A bright fireball. Then there were wreck pieces raining down on the planet._

_They both knew that the pilots couldn't have survived the crash, yet they ran to the control centre, all fatigue forgotten._

_The control officer, an old friend of them, looked as shocked as they felt._

_"They're gone," he told them quietly. "Probably a technical fault."_

_"Who was it?" Biggs asked, while a strange dread began to build up in Hobbie's stomach._

_"Two newbies. Flight officers Tom Colbert and let me check- James Grange."_

_Hobbie gulped and turned around, walking outside, ignoring Biggs's concerned shout._

_He gazed up at the blue, blue sky. A spotless blue sky with only some dreamy white clouds floating about, and gentle, sweet Jimmy who had so believed in intergalactic peace was dead. It was so unfair._

* * *

"So that happened?" Wes asks softly.

"Yeah." Hobbie brings up a hand to rub it over his eyes. He is long past the stage of crying, but the story always makes him gloomy and depressed.

"So he was your reason for joining the Rebels?"

"No, not completely. There were other factors involved, which finally made me firm in my decision, but I don't want to talk about them right now."

Wes gets up silently and Hobbie is glad for his silence. If anything, Wes somehow always knew what to say to Hobbie, whenever he is in one of his moods.

Now he returns with two glasses filled with an amber liquid: Whyren's Reserve.

"I believe your friend deserves a toast."

Hobbie only takes the glass and clinks it against Wes's, the first rays of sun reflecting in the amber liquor. "To you, Jimmy. Here's to you and your hope of peace."

"Peace," repeats Wes and they both take a long draught, the morning sun warming their faces.

And that's what Hobbie thinks of whenever he is asked about the Academy. Jimmy.

He sometimes thinks of him, when he sits in the cockpit of his X-wing, heading yet to another battle on their life task to bring peace to the galaxy. That's for you, Jimmy.

And somewhere a young man with clear blue eyes and shorn black hair smiles.

_-The end-_


	17. Hobbie Klivian: Someone I once knew

_Thank you very much for your review, **TriGemini**. I am so happy, that you are still around :D_

_This is a oneshot about Hobbie- and it might be a bit confusing when you read it for the first time, but trust me, you'll understand it in time! Thank you for reading._

_Greetings,_

_Sachita_

* * *

**Someone I once knew**

* * *

_(Hobbie Klivian hangs at the edge of a cliff and no one's gonna prevent him from falling down.)_

His thoughts are twisted and macabre like that. He is a pilot and solitude is what he knows, he knows how to be alone, he _can_ do that. But that's not what he's feeling right now.

Being alone is something other than loneliness he decides.

He looks around at the others in the room.

They're relaxed now, they're relaxed and laughing and smiling about one of Wes's jokes.

But he knows that this is not them, not entirely them at least.

Behind the laughing faces, behind the smiling lips and the sparkling eyes, behind all that…behind all that, they _know_.

They know what he does, he has seen it on their faces countless times.

Pinched faces, tightly clenched fists, eyes hard with determination.

That used to scare him, once upon time, but now it doesn't, because he really does know of all of it now.

They don't speak about it, naturally, about the faces that come back to haunt them every night in their sleep, about the fire and the screams, that make them wake up sweating.

So, it's a matter of all of them knowing, but no one speaking about it.

_(That's something everyone's gotta deal alone with, and so Hobbie Klivian has to find himself a rope, which he can use to pull himself off the edge. Alone.)_

Once he didn't know of it. He remembers those days like passing clouds on a warm summer day.

The humid smell of the earth. Childrens' laughter. A mother's warm voice.

Chasing after a kite, a kite that flew so high and so fast that he had to run to keep up with the wind and he laughed, and laughed- and. And. He doesn't remember more, though he wishes, he would.

Clouds aren't meant to stay still, and so he has to chase after them, but after a while, he can't run fast enough, the clouds disappear and he's only left with the harsh reality.

Explosions and blasterfire and people- children, mothers, fathers, grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts – screaming, screaming-And.

He thinks that once upon a time it used to be so easy. He came home from school and his mother lifted him up and smiled:"That's my big boy."

And everything was just normal like that, he thought nothing could ever change his reality.

Once, a speeder accident had happened next to his home. His mother had turned his head away and had said: "Don't look, my son. Just don't look."

Of course he had looked, just because he had wanted to defy her.

The speeder was broken and amidst the wreckage, the people were lying, looking like bloody puppets with cut strings, limbs broken and twisted, just like the remains of the speeder.

He'd received a slap on the head for looking, but he had remembered just the same.

Now that's his reality, the reality, that won't change, no matter what he hopes or thinks.

_(Someone has misplaced the rope. Hobbie thinks that's just typical.)_

He gets up and walks away, ignoring the others' looks, seeing how for a moment their laughter fades, sees their understanding. But he quickly looks away, because, well, they know.

_(Don't look, my son. Just don't look-Now where's that kriffed rope?)_

He sits down outside and looks at the red sunset, remembering a time, when the red colour only reminded him of his mother's delicious sauces.

Wes comes to sit down next to him. "Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yes," he replies. "Why shouldn't I be?"

Wes shrugs. "Don't know. You seemed kind of off inside."

Hobbie rolls his stiff muscles. " Yeah. Well."

He knows Wes is lying, he understands very well, because _he _knows, too.

Quieter he adds: "I just think I lost him somewhere or…somehow."

"Whom?"

But Hobbie doesn't reply and so Wes gets up after a while, rests a hand on his shoulder for a second and then leaves.

Hobbie raises his head and stares at the sunset. "Me," he whispers in the light breeze and he's almost glad, because he's pretty sure, that the _wind_ on this kriffing planet _doesn't_ know_._

_(Hobbie locates the rope and pulls himself up, discovering that it's actually no cliff, but a rock in the middle of a large ocean. He smiles mirthlessly: "Just my luck.")_

* * *

tbc


	18. Of Ewoks and Identification Markers

_This has been written for an dialogue-only challenge and I have to say, it was quite challenging^^. But it is a humourous, light-hearted story, and as it has kindly been pointed out to me (thanks for that!), it all has got a bit depressing in the last chapters, and so I thought that it was time for something, which is more cheerful. Sorry for not updating for such a long time. I am buried in tons of work at the moment, but I am hopeful that I'll be able to update one more chapter this year. For now I hope you like this one. And of course thank you, thank you! for your truly wonderful reviews, **TriGemini **(honestly, where would I be without you? Thank you so much!),__**Rosa **(yes we do know that!)__, **Mathematica** ( I am so glad you like it!!!) and **silver brilliance **(I am happy you still like it!)_

_Sachita  
_

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**Of Ewoks and Identification markers**

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„Hey Inyri! How are you?"

„Shalla. How nice to see you. I am fine. What about you?"

"I can't complain. What's this magazine with the…interesting pictures on the cover, which you are reading?!"

"Shalla- simply _look_ at it, then you will see. That's a picture of a Ewok sitting in a speeder."

"Ewok? Speeder? Please tell me, Wes hasn't given this to you."

"Oh, he has."

"And you are actually stupid enough to read something, that Wes gives you?`"

"Oh no, no. You are misunderstanding me. First I thought, it would be rubbish, but then I had a closer look at it. Wes apparently thought it would be a nice gesture, even if he hasn't got much taste, when it comes to womens' magazines. It's a Wespon."

"A what?!"

"Wespon. As in Wes 'n' weapon."

"Oh, I see. A weapon against Wes?"

"Yes. Look at these two pages , but be careful. He sits at the table behind you, with Hobbs and the others."

"Oh yes- Hobbie…."

"Shalla, don't tell me you like him."

"Oh, no. Actually, I just wanted to tell you, that I have discovered recently what nice eyes he has…and this backside…"

"Shalla, you're swooning."

"I am not _swooning!"_

"Oh yes, you are."

"I only wanted to tell you, what nice eyes he-"

"_**Shalla!"**_

"Ow! That hurt. What did you kick me for?!"

"For your swooning."

"I didn't. I only-"

"It's okay, Shalla. Read it!"

"Yes, Ma'am. If you insist."

"Oh no- I think, he's looking at us."

"Let him look and don't crane your neck like that if you want to remain undisturbed….No, wait a minute. You sound excited…You like Wes!"

"I don't!"

"You know, blushing goes nicely with your hair. I think Wes likes it. He has that women-here-I-come-take-care-look in his eyes."

"You're silly."

"I knew that before. The epitome of being a Wraith. Besides, you're a Rogue. You're impossible. That's worse."

"Haha."

"So, here it says, that test number one is letting him open a pen and change the ink cartridges.

You know, one of the old-fashioned kind. And if he manages to do it, he has achieved three points. "

"Who has stuff like that? I think, I saw it in a museum once."

"Here it says too, if the object of your dreams will get you a pen, then he would also die for you."

"Janson would probably rather die laughing, if I read this to him."

"You know, I think I got one of these identification markers, that the techs use to mark X-wings with, when they discover damaged spots."

"Okay, let's try it."

"Wait a minute…Why are we doing this anyway? It's a magazine for young girls."

"Sometimes I feel, as if I should try and relive my youth again, only in a better way."

"Oh, Inyri."

"It's okay. I chose my fate and you know, perhaps I wouldn't have been here, if it hadn't been for my bad youth and my acquaintance with Zekka Thyne."

"That's true. Well, then. I think I feel like behaving like a thirteen-year-old, too.

You got any glittering, pink slides?"

"No, but blue ones."

"Really?"

" Who do you think I am? I was just kidding. As were you."

"I am not too sure of that. "

"What?! You mean, you want a glittering, pink slide?"

"Uh-huh. Would go nicely with Wes's sunburn."

"Shalla."

"Okay, okay."

---

"Hullo, ladies. How can we help you?"

"Hey, Wes. Um, Inyri and I, we would need some help with opening this marker."

"No problem. Just go to your dear superior officer and he will help you.

You could help me make the sign, you know?"

"What sign, Wes?"

"A sign, which says: In dire situations- call your Wes."

"If there was ever a room big enough to hold your ego, I have never been there."

"You're flattering me, Inyri."

"…"

"Wes! See what you have done! I am splattered with black colour!"

"Hey! 'S not my fault. The ladies wanted me to open their marker."

"Open it, Wes, not pour its contents over Wedge."

"Well then , Hobbie: do it yourself!"

"Fine! Inyri, Shalla, I hope you don't mind?"

"Oh no, I don't mind, and I don't think Inyri does either- or do you?"- "No"-"Well, then, you can try to open it."

----

"Wow, thanks Hobbie, that was fast. "

"No problem, Shalla."

"Come on, Shalla. Let's go back to our chairs."

"Okay."

---

"Ow- I swear, this chair is so comfortable! Downtime is great."

"He looked at me!"

"Who?"

"Hobbie."

"Shalla, you're swoo-"

"I am not swooning! I just wanted to tell you-"

"SHALLA!"

"Hey! No need to yell at me, Inyri."

"Sorry. You're just behaving like a thirteen-year old."

"Inyri, perhaps I am a thirteen-year-old disguised as a twenty-seven-year-old."

"Perhaps we should read exercise two instead, since Wes has til now failed spectacularly."

"Okay…Well, here it says, it's a general knowledge question.

"Yeah?"

"Uh…I am not too sure if I should read it to you.."

"Just read it now!"

"Ok…so here it says: Ask him what ewoks eat for breakfast. If he knows, good, if not, he doesn't get his points."

"That's not a general knowledge question! That's preposterous! I am not asking him that! Just imagine what a laugh he would get out of this!"

"Inyri, I told you, you would be upset."

"I am not upset."

"Who is upset?"

"Wes?"

"Yes, why?"

"Inyri here wants to ask you something. "

"Really?"

"No, nonononono, Wes!"

"Oh, if I have learnt something about women, it is, that if they deny something, you know they want it!"

"That's a stereotype, Wes."

"You know what? I think I'll rather let you two be and join Hobbie instead. He looks so lonely over there, with Wedge and Tycho gone."

"Yeah- pfft- Wedge is changing in another uniform and Tycho is off to his office, doing some datapad-stuff in all that Tycho-seriousness."

"Whatever- I think, I'll see you later, you two."

"Now I know, that this must really be something _important_."

"You're a traitor, Shalla!"

"Have fun, 'Nyri."

"Traitor."

"You know, muttering at people's backs is probably not going to improve their opinion about you."

"Probably not."

"Hmm…so, what did you want to ask me?"

"It's not that important."

"No…it's a question coming from you, so it's important."

"Is this your standard pick-up line, Janson?"

"No, Inyri! Why are you so bitter?"

"Why are you so obnoxious, Janson?"

"You know, even if that was just a smile of smugness, you should smile more often.

It makes you even prettier."

"I am not going to fall for that, Janson!"

"Perhaps you want to."

"Dream on!"

"Why are you so afraid of male persons coming close to you? Is it because of Thyne?"

"Don't say that name."

"I am sorry, but Iynri, you have to keep in mind, that not everyone is like Zekka Thyne."

"Oh? You mean men like you? Oh yes, great. Sleep your way through all the beds on the base."

"My relationships have never bothered you before. Why now?"

"You know, I think _you _are afraid."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You are afraid of entering a longer relationship."

"I am not. I was together with Danna Selm for –"

"Two months. Then you broke up with her."

"Yes, but that- that was different."

"No, I don't think you get my point. Why should I trust you?"

"I am not to be trusted, Inyri. But neither are you."

"Such wisdom from you."

"Don't be sarcastic now, Inyri. I have watched you watching me for some months now."

"And? Did it please you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I really like you."

"That's what they all say."

"You would know, if you had paid attention to my little gestures of affection?"

"Affection. Hm. The salt in my coffee? The red dye in my shampoo?"

"No. The roses for example."

"The roses? And the chocolate? That- that was you?"

"Yes."

"I- I am touched. Thank you, Wes."

"No problem….Now you are smiling again and it really suits you."

"Wes…"

"Yes, Inyri?"

"Why can't you be more like that?"

"The evil ewok inside of me prevents it."

"Don't be elusive again, Wes. "

"Perhaps some other time, Inyri."

"…Yes."

"Are you cold? Because you brought this shawl with you."

"I am, yes. I am often cold these days. Everything reminds me of Thyne."

"You're safe here."

"I know. But he comes at night, when I am dreaming and he says: _Inyri, darling, do you want to dance with me? _and when I answer him: _No_ he says, that he doesn't take _No_ as an answer."

"What happens then?"

"He grabs my wrists and swings me around. Then he takes his blaster and shoots me, in the middle of the dance. And when I am falling, I can hear his voice saying:

_No more dances for you, not now, not ever, little Inyri._ And then everything fades to black."

"Tell him next time, that you're a grown woman now, and if he wants to dance with you again, tell him, that he hurts you and he will have to deal with me. Even in afterlife."

"That's very sweet of you to say, Wes. But I don't think, he-he will b-back down."

"Don't cry, Inyri. Shh. It's going to be alright."

"I know, I know…I am simply so afraid, Wes."

"Perhaps you could learn to trust me after all."

"Perhaps."

"So…now, that we have established that fact, could you tell me, what you wanted to ask me?"

"It sounds too silly."

"Hey, Inyri, remember, this is Wes Janson you're talking too. Nothing is too silly for me."

"Okay…do you know what Ewoks eat for breakfast? You look like the person, who could know it."

"I-"

"Now why are you blushing? Is it so macabre?"

"No-I…"

"You what?"

"To be honest, I don't know."

"That's – that's priceless, Janson!"

"I know. Glad to get a laugh out of you, even if it is on my expense."

"It's funny! Wes Janson, Ewok-prankster extraordinaire doesn't know, what Ewoks eat for breakfast."

"Just don't tell Wedge."

"I won't. That's a promise."

"A I-swear-it-on-the-canopy-of-my-X-wing-promise?"

"You're odd, Janson."

"Coming from you, that sounds again like a compliment."

"Perhaps it was. I am odd myself, you know."

"I like odd people. Would you like to be my wing, Inyri?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I ask, because I want to ask you another question, but I can only ask you that other question if you'll answer me the first one."

"So what if I say yes?"

"Then I would ask, if I was allowed to kiss you."

"Perhaps I would answer then, that I allow it."

"And perhaps I would be bold then."

"You may."

"Then I am."

---

"That was good. You're a good kisser."

"You too."

"You know, if you want to, you can kiss me again. I wouldn't object.

Just tell me one thing: You would just kiss the other women and not ask them before.

Why do you ask me?"

"You're different. You're special."

"How so?"

"I l-"

"No, don't say it."

"I was going to say, that I like you."

"I do, too. Just not the other word. I don't think we're ready for it yet, and if you would say it,

I wouldn't trust you anymore."

"Trust is relative. But you can trust me in most things."

"For example, that you will not run off and kiss the next woman, that comes your way."

"I won't. I have my wingman already and she's the prettiest wing, that has ever come my way. I will protect her. That's a promise."

"A I-swear-it-on-the-identification-marks-of-my-X-wing-promise?"

"Now you're odd."

"I know."

"What did you and Shalla do earlier anyway?"

"We were doing a test. Who is the ideal boyfriend? You failed spectacularly."

"I am proud of it. I don't want to be a stereotype."

"You're not. And if you are a stereotype, then you're the ideal one for all Inyris."

"You mean for everyone who's called Inyri?"

"Just here in that room, of course."

"Of course. Speaking of tests and Shalla, look, who's getting cozy with Hobbie over there."

"Pfff. I knew it."

"Well, my lady, may I be bold again?"

"You may…Wes."

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	19. Wes Janson: Days of Rain

_So, happy new year to all of you! This story is not exactly what I would call light-hearted, but it's not pure sadness either. It's about Wes. Wedge's reaction after Wes's supposed death was explored in the book "X-Wing: Isard's Revenge", but what about Wes? What would he think upon hearing that his three best friends are dead? This has been spooking around iny my head for ages. For all of you, who haven't read the book, the short version here: Basically it's about Ysanne Isard wanting to use the Rogues for her own purpose, and she sets up a trap, which results for example in Wedge and the other Rogues thinking, Wes is dead, and Wes thinking, all the others are dead. If you want to know more, well, get the book^^. This story is, as previously mentioned, about Wes and his thoughts. Thank you for your reviews, Rosa (PM kommt bald^^) and TriGemini (I am grateful, that you are still here!)_

_- Sachita_

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_**Days of rain**_

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The world outside is loud. He is sitting on a bench in a park.

There are little children running around in their brightly-coloured clothing and with their sweet, sweet smiles. "Found a stone, Mammi," a little girl squeals, holding out a stone in her grubby little hand. "Aw, that's beautiful," her mother cooes, sounding as reassuring as every mother does. His own mother did too, once upon a time, he thinks.

That was when he was too young to understand why the big people carried blasters and grenades. That was when his world consisted of little things, a bright red piece of cloth here, some orange flowers there, little pieces of beauty that amazed him.

He was good at noticing the small things back then. He tries to do so now, concentrates hard on that stone, that the mother is holding in her hand, tries to find the little silver spots, that have to be there, and the special colours, that made the stone stand out from other stones in the little girl's eyes, but he finds none.

A stone, he thinks, and he's angered at himself for thinking that it's just a useless piece of matter, for he knows that he has somewhere lost that way of thinking, that way of seeing more to the things.

The mother looks up now and he meets her gaze, attempting a smile, but he knows, that it must have come out as a grimace, because she gathers her daughter close to her chest, and he takes a moment to consider the contrast between the girl's bright blond hair and the mother's dark tresses, which mingle with each other, then he turns away.

The world outside is so loud, but - and he doesn't even have to try so hard now- he can drown it all out. It's pretty easy, he just has to focus on the emptiness within his heart.

He has always had that emptiness within, but it's never been like that. He could drown out sounds and dialogues and even persons when he tried hard to, earlier, but now it's really easy.

Too easy perhaps.

Yesterday he had to visit a shrink. He has taken out his best mask, the one, that's supposed to be impenetrable, but, when he thinks about it, it was probably a quite pathetic attempt, especially for him, the Master of Masks.

But it was a bored shrink and he just wanted to do his job without adding more work to the heaps of work, which were no doubt lying in form of datapads on his desk and weighing him down.

And he understood that, he really did. He knew that he was supposed to be glad, and he knew that he was supposed to be relieved, that the shrink had declared him fit for duty, but he didn't feel anything. He wouldn't have felt anything either, if he hadn't been. Of course he put on another mask, the mask of the relieved, laid-back Major of the New Republic. The cool, funny joker, who doesn't let anything get to him, not even the deaths of his three best friends.

By now he should feel something, he supposes, like the way people do in the holomovies. They are cool and indifferent after the worst disasters, until someone speaks up and talks about it. Then they cry and scream and break down and do the whole emotional shipwreck kind of thing.

Huh. Maybe he should try to say it aloud. "My three best friends are dead," he says clearly and he lets the words hang in the air for a moment, even looks for them, because they sound so heavy and dark spoken aloud, that he can't understand that they are invisible. He really expects them to hang as dark smudges in the pristine spring air in front of him.

But there's just the sun and the people, and for a moment the world is loud again, and no matter how hard he tries he can't drown it out. Well kriff.

And he sees the woman, the mother, who is looking at him with something akin to concern in the crystal depths of her eyes. Well, as much concern as you can have for a stranger.

Of course she has heard his words, and maybe she has seen them hanging in the air.  
He almost wants to ask her about it, when he's lost in her eyes.

She's beautiful and at another time, he might have smiled, and she might have smiled, and they might have gone on a date and she might have said, that she liked him, and he might have told her, that he liked her eyes.

He gets up, hears the gravel crunch under his booted feet. Crunch.

Gravel, imported from Tanaab- he should know, knew the man, who was running a huge business with "natural Tanaabian Gravel". "Get to sell it even to C'rscant," he had told Wes conspiratorially. "You could join me if you want to. Can make a f'rtune with sellin' gravel." Of course Wes hadn't joined him- selling gravel! Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

His thoughts often stray to absurd subjects like that these days, he notices absentmindedly.

He tries to feel like crying, but he doesn't succeed.

The first stage of grief is denial, he knows that.

He's been through that already. He can still recall the thick liquid he floated in. Green Bacta, green, yes it was green. But that doesn't matter. _No, no, it doesn't._

He has become side-tracked. There was Mirax outside of the glass and she put a hand on the tank. He looked at her hand, then at her face. She was crying, silver tears sliding down a porcelain face. And in that moment, when dark understanding began to dawn in his heart, when he started to despair, he felt weightless.

He felt as if he was flying, as light as a feather, through white, huge clouds on the way to distant horizons, horizons, that he couldn't define.

And he closed his eyes. They pulled him out of the bacta.

The feeling of flying had still been there. He felt as if he would never need to come back down to the solid ground, but then a towel had been put on his shoulders, and his fingers had automatically felt the rough material, and then he had started to feel how cold the tiled floor under his feet was, and how chilly the air around him. So the feeling of flying had abruptly stopped. Mirax came inside. She was sobbing, hard and dry sounds shook her slim body.

"They're all dead," she choked out and flung herself at him.

He mechanically held her, and while she sobbed her grief out on his shoulder, he had let her, staring at nothing in particular with blank green eyes. He felt nothing, and, he notices with curious detachment, he can't bring himself to feel anything now either.

The second stage of grief is anger, he supposes.

Anger- but how on Coruscant can he feel angered, when he can't even bring himself to cry?

He wants to cry. He wants to feel. He wants to be alive- not this semi-comatose, conserving, frozen, resigned feeling of numbness. He wants to scream and shout and love.

He tries to conjure up anger. Anger at the mindless people walking by in their bright, coloured clothes, their quick, absent-minded glances as they hurry to yet another insignificant meeting in their unimportant lives, as they worry about the latest yellow-press news.

He wants them to notice, wants them to tell him, that he's not the only one feeling confused and numb right now, wants other people to come, those who feel alive at the moment and wants to ask them to give him some of their vibrancy. Maybe he can feel anger then.

There are some couples walking by, there's a dreamy something in their eyes and there are still all those little kids playing in the park. As if nothing had happened.

Suddenly the little kids aren't playing any more. He looks up with detached carelessness and sees how the mothers bundle their children up in rain-safe clothes. There's a storm brewing and he enjoys the feel of the wind burning against his cheeks, tousling his unruly hair, tearing at his clothes. In a matter of minutes the playground is empty and it starts to rain- fat, wet raindrops . He looks up and they're in the sky like falling, sparkling diamonds- on his face, in his nose, in his eyes. It is so silent. There is only the sound of his breaths and of the splattering rain, no children laughing or screaming any more.

His fingers encounter a hard object in his pockets. He holds it out in the rain. A credit chip.

He still owes Hobbie 50 credits. 50 credits. He will give them to him soon.

Tomorr-.

***

If there was someone with him, he would probably claim that he got something in his eyes-or maybe he wouldn't- but so he just hears surprised, that there is someone, who is making a horrible little wailing sound.

And he is surprised- a change from feeling nothing- to realise, that the sound is coming from him.

"I-" He struggles to form a sentence. He feels like he owes an explanation to the rain, that is now falling heavier, as to why he's still sitting here, outside, when his place would be inside, together with other living beings, why he takes the rain's privilege away to fall undisturbed.

"I have lost-" he tries. "I lost-" This time it's a real, loud sob, that tears through his whole being and makes him shiver.

"My friends," he says again, against the wind and the rain, "they are dead. And my whole squadron. And-"

He can't continue. Another sob shakes his body, and then another.

"They are dead, dead" he screams suddenly, and he would probably be glad, that he doesn't hear how horrible he sounds, his voice catching, breaking, cracking, yet faint in the roaring wind.

The man, Wes Janson of Tanaab, Major Janson of the New Republic, falls to his knees amidst the gravel imported from his homeworld.

"Dead," he howls, almost inhumanly and digs his fingers in the ground.

And if he were still capable of forming sound sentences, he would try to explain his demeanour, that might strike others as crazy.

_My best friends,_ he would say. _They are dead, do you understand me? Dead. No, don't tell me that's normal in my profession, because you don't know them. They're my family. My best friends. I am nothing without them. What? Yes, of course they will give me another position in another squadron somewhere, of course I can find other friends, too._

_But what if I don't want to, huh? You ever thought 'bout that? Bet you didn't, 'cause you don't understand. Kriff you, you don't understand. You don't! You don't! You don't…_

"You don't!" he screams against the wind. "You don't," he whimpers and bends over, now crying.

"I would give anything," he whispers suddenly against the gravel and then he lifts his head, new hope shining in his eyes. "So what is it that you want me to do? What is it that you want me to do?" He huddles up in himself. "I would give anything," he adds, almost absent-minded, speaking to the gravel and the cold ground.

But there is no answer, just the wind howling and roaring some more, the raindrops falling on his ice-cold skin.

"You know it don't you?" he whispers in the rain storm and thinks of Jandu, the rain and weather god, that his mother told him of. He was sitting on the carpet by the fire, comfortable and snug with his favourite blankie wrapped around his thin shoulders, eyes large in a chubby face, as Mother told him of Jandu, the God of Rain and Thunder, and his power over mortal and immortal beings alike. Tanaab's rural inhabitants still believe widely in such things nowadays, Wes knows. And he know that it is superstitious and silly, but still, he lifts his head and says in a low, desperate voice: "If you're there, Jandu, get 'em back to me. Please."

Then he drags himself up, slowly and tiredly, feeling cold and a bit like a little lost boy searching for his mother. He knows that he won't find her 's gone and she has been gone for nearly twenty years by now.

The way to his quarters is a blur. He has vague impressions of rain and the approaching night, of black-clad people and old women with curious eyes peeking out under large hats.

When he arrives at his quarters, he just falls on his bed and tries not to look at Hobbie's unmade bed, remembers how he kidded him about not making the bed, how Hobbie laughingly replied: Yeah, Wes, 'cause you're the epitome of orderliness!…

He falls asleep in his wet clothes and doesn't even bother to take off his shoes.

* * *

Wes sits in his quarters and stares at the wall, when his comlink beeps. Dully, he takes it out and looks at the message.

"Major, your presence is requested at a briefing on Home One, 1600."

He reads the message and frowns, then looks at the sender and nods, satisfied. Mary Whiler is a woman who holds affection for him, he knows.

He sends her an inquiry, adorns it with some charming words. This is what he is good at. Charming words, he can do that, even when he is at his lowest.

The reply comes soon after. It makes him tremble and he falls down on his bed heavily. They are alive- They are-

Wes covers his face with both hands and is still shaking a long time afterwards.

* * *

The world is loud and bright. He is alive. He is feeling pain. He is feeling anger.

But most of all, he is feeling so much joy, that he wanted to embrace the whole universe with overwhelming feelings of gratitude.

He opens the door. All members of Rogue Squadron are already there, chatting lively with each other, some dancing to the beat of the music.

"Wes!" Hobbie has spotted him and comes over.

"Hobs," he says softly and stares at him for a second, afraid that this all is just a dream and in reality he is still outside in the rain, staring in the sky.

But there are Hobbie's hands on his arms and a worried expression on his friend's face.

"Wes? You ok?"

"Yeah, sure," he smiles and presses something in Hobbs's hands, who stares at the bundle.

"What's that?"

"Your fifty credits, man," he answers with an underlying tone of obviousness.

"Thank you, Wes," Hobbie murmurs, then frowns and stares at him with an odd expression on the face. "You sure that you're alright?"

"Of course," he smiles again. He's ok. He's alright. He's flying and never coming down.

He winks at Hobbie, squeezes past him and goes over to Corran, exchanging some words with him, then goes to prank Wedge. (See Isard's Revenge).

Pranking Wedge is fun, but then he has to head outside for fresh air.

He is still flying, but now he feels how his energy is slowly drained and he starts to tumble.

"Crash and burn," he says out loud and sits heavily down on the balcony, he finds himself on.

He is not surprised that his eyes are burning.

"Crash and burn, Wes?" Tycho is suddenly there, sitting down next to him, regarding him with an indecipherable look on his aristocratic features.

"Ah, forget about it," he mumbles and tries to put on his happy face. But Tycho wouldn't be Tycho if he couldn't see right through it, and so Wes gets another intense look.

"You're not alright, that's it," another voice stats flatly behind Tycho and Hobbie saunters around the corner, his hands in his pockets.

"It was horrible for us, too, Wes," Wedge, who has appeared seemingly out of thin air, says gently. "When we thought we had lost you.." He trails off.

Wes tries to save what is left of his dignity with a short laugh, but the sound comes out of his mouth is not a laugh. It sounds rather small and desperate and he shakes his head.

"It was terrible," he says, finally truthful. "I did a lot of walking in the rain."

He can practically see how they process this new information, can see them turning his words over in their heads, and – because they know him so well, something that scares him sometimes- finally come to a conclusion about what he really wanted to say.  
There is a short silence, then Tycho inches closer and, without saying a word, puts an arm around his shoulders. Hobbie comes to his other side, and, also without saying anything, does the same, while Wedge leans against his back.

Wes knows that they won't speak of this to anyone- they don't need to- but he cherishes the moment, the warm, solid, _real_ presence of his friends, and the amount of trust that is almost palpably hanging in the air. They stay like that for some minutes, silent.

Then Wes sneezes and Wedge snorts: "Did you manage to acquire a cold, Janson?"

Wes doesn't reply. Tycho does instead, spotting the guilty expression on his neighbour's face.

"That's what talking long walks in the rain does to you…"

"Great," Hobbie remarks dryly. "We're probably all infected."

There are no objections.

* * *

"Celchu here."

"Hey, Tych, it's Wedge."

A smile spreads on his face. "It's good to hear from you, boss. And, recovered from yesterday's party?"

Wedge laughs. "Yeah. What about you?"

He smiles. "I think so."

"Good." Wedge makes a pause. Then: "Tych, did you notice that strange new book in Wes's quarters? It's called "Jandu, the rain god- legends and half-truths".

He's not getting spiritual, is he? If he is, I think we should be worried. I for my part do not need a Priest Kettch in a black soutane."

Tycho laughs a little: "Yeah, I did. He's getting stranger every day. We should sic Hobbie on him, just to make sure."

He pauses shortly and then he says quietly: "It's good to have him back. It just wasn't the same without him around."

Something dark is in Wedge's voice, as he replies: "Yeah, I know."

Tycho quickly changes the topic. "However, Wedge, I have other concerns now- I think, he infected me with his stupid cold. My head aches and my throat is sore."

A smug laugh comes over the com. "Not much of an immune system, have you?"

Tycho wants to retort something, but suddenly, there is a sound.

"Wedge, did you just sneeze?"

"I-"

"Yes, you did." He laughs.

"No, I- Ah, Kriff."

* * *

FROM: Administration Rogue Squadron, Starfighter Command

TO: Starfighter Command, Central Administrative Office

SUBJECT: Medical Report, Rogue Squadron

Dear Sir or Madam,

Here is the Rogue Squadron's medical report for the last month.

Gen. Wedge Antilles: Two days absent due to heavy cold attended with fever

Col. Tycho Celchu: Three days absent due to heavy cold attended with fever

Maj. Wes Janson: Two days absent due to heavy cold attended with fever

Maj. Derek Klivian: Four days absent due to heavy cold attended with fever and stomach ache

Cpt. Corran Horran: Three days absent due to cold and stomach ache

Lt. Gavin Darklighter: One day absent due to cold

…

The aide shakes her head, when she views the long list.

"Now what's that?" she mumbles, when she sees another file, labelled "Attachment 2."

She opens it and an Ewok walks on the screen of her datapad. "RAIN," flashes over its head. "I LOVE RAIN; I LOVE RAIN; I LOVE RAIN; LET IT RAIN." It walks over the screen and finally disappears.

"Huh!" she exclaims. "Gotta tell Rogue Squadron, that they have a bug in their system."

* * *

She is at the playground, their usual place to be, when the man from two days ago comes in.

Then he emanated sadness, now he looks calm, contended, yes, even happy.

Still she frowns when he seems to be headed for her and her little daughter.

"Madam," he says when he's standing directly in front of her.

She looks up at him. It's such a sunny day today- it paints his hair a dark, reddish brown and she finds, that she likes it.  
"Would you allow me to invite you and your daughter to a cup of tea, Ma'am?"

Ah, well, who can resist these green eyes?

She certainly can't.

* * *

_tbc...so what do you think of it?  
_


	20. The fab four: Dancing in the moonlight

_Hello everyone! I haven't updated in ages, I know, I know and I am sorry! Much has been happening in my life- finishing school and asking myself what on earth I do now with my life- but now I hope I have found the answer and so I have time for the story! You are wonderful reviewers, **Trigemini **(without all of your reviews I don't know where I would be)**, Kegel, WestAero13 **and **Princess Fawna** (your messages made me continue this story so thank you very much)_! _Of course, thank you also to everyone else who has ever read/reviewed the story_! _This is just a oneshot, starring the Fab Four and it has been inspired by the great Nebelelbin, a good friend of mine. We had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you like it, too.  
_

_I hope you like it and I hope that there are still some readers left after all this time...O-: I only hope I go them in character- it's been so long. Oh, and by the way, there is a LONG story about Hobbie Klivian in the works. It's not finished yet but I am getting there and I think I will have to split it in several chapters because it is so long. It's basically about Hobbie's backstory, I hope you like that one too. But now- enjoy!_

_Best wishes and sorry for not updating for so long,_

_Sachita_

_P.S.: This oneshot was inspired by Toploader's Dancing in the Moonlight. If you want to, listen to it on youtube and then read the story. For me at least, the song will never be the same...  
_

* * *

**Dancing in the Moonlight**

**

* * *

**

Hobbie had been sleeping- peacefully- in his bed, when the noise outside started. He dragged a pillow over his ears. "Sith…" he groaned and dragged sticky eyes open- the singing wouldn't stop.

He tried to go back to sleep, using one of Wes's acquired methods- counting Ewoks.

"Ewok Number one, invisible Ewok Number Two, Ewok number three, very chubby Ewok number four, large Ewok number five, Wes-like Ewok number six, oh, that one got Wedge's commander face- number seven, Tycho-Ewok number eight…."

The singing didn't stop. Maybe some drunk Wookiee trying to rehearse his performance for "Coruscant's Idol"…Oh Kriff.

He was going crazy! And sleeping was not an option any longer.

Might as well listen to what the guy outside was singing about anyway…

"Warm and bright…doo dee daa…"

Oh SITH!

He was putting a stop to this **now**. Okay. Time to get out of bed. He put on his best "I am a Major in the New Republic and you are a nerf-herder, you nerf-herder!"- face and slipped his clothes on - he imagined him appearing in his Ewok shorts and with the green shirt proclaiming "Crash-Landing-Record-holder" – gifts from his oh-so-nice squadron mates- wouldn't do much to inspire feelings of authority and dignity…

He opened the door, but he still couldn't see the one producing these sith-awful noises.

Then the singing started again- louder than before….and it befell him- he knew that voice!

…

…

Oh. No.

Kriff.

"Daancing in the Mooooonlight…I AM dancing in the moonlight…warm and bright….everything is warm and bright…come dance with me girls!"

And two feminine voices and lots of giggling. Girlish giggling.

"Ooooh Major you are so great! The best pilot ever! And your singing voice is so beautiful!"

"Oh darling…I definitely agree…come sing with me. DAAAncing in the moonlight…"  
And again, Hobbie's best friend went, belting out tunes that a cat wouldn't be able to produce even if it was getting strangled by some animal-hater.

Hobbie frowned. Sith…

"WES!"

Wes ignored him or didn't hear him. Hobbie wasn't surprised, seeing that Wes made a similar amount of noise to a landing X-wing- and come to think of it, landing X-wings sounded also quite similar…

He thought of calling down to him, but then an idea struck him. It was Wes' own fault if he went waking him up in the middle of the night. Fourhundred in the morning!

Yes, he was definitely getting Wes back for this. Revenge was sweet…

* * *

**On the next morning…**

Colonel Tycho Celchu, XO of Rogue Squadron and respectable officer in the New Republic Starfighter Command was just starting his day. And as usual, his day started with the requisition forms…Ah. Oh the joys of military life. And of datapads.

He accessed his messages…boring…boring…boring…that he'd look at later. Wasn't there something remotely interesting? Requisition forms for speeder parts, X-wing parts…and a can of bright green color? Tycho, in the process of approving that request, frowned. Wait.

A can of bright green color?

He looked at the sender. "Lieutenant Kettch, Starfighter Command" it said in the header. He smirked in spite of himself. "Wes, you are losing your touch. That wasn't very subtle…you thought I would just overlook it, didn't you? Well I hate to disappoint you…" He frowned, wondering what on Coruscant Wes had been planning to do with a can of bright green paint anyway. Maybe he should inform Wedge later of this. Come to think of it, it had been a remarkably Wes-prankfree time these last weeks anyway…

He looked at the other messages. There was one from Hobbie labeled "Blackmail Material".

Tycho opened it and then his eyebrows climbed higher and higher. Seconds later, he jumped up and ran down the hallway.

* * *

Wedge was tired. It had been a long night, spent working, which was kind of depressing, come to think of it.

He was just about to start on the new personnel files. Sith. He despised datawork.

Then the door was pushed open with a bang. Mildly annoyed, Wedge looked up to reprimand the one who had just come in so rudely, that yes, although they were Rogue Squadron he was still the Commander and as such at least deserved a civilized knock on his door…then he looked up.

"Tycho?"

Tycho, looking like an exuberant five-year-old and sporting a wide grin, was _bouncing_ up and down in his doorframe. "Wedge," he beamed.

Wedge raised an eyebrow at his normally composed Second-in-Command. "Are you sober?"  
Tycho looked a little indignant, but his grin soon returned full-force. "Of course I am! Wedge…Wedge!"

And he dissolved in a fit of laughter. If it had been anyone else, Wedge would have said that it was in fact closer to giggling.

"Check your messages," Tycho managed to squeeze through his merriment. "The one from Hobbie!"

Wedge sighed. "Let me guess, Hobbie has managed to use up the whole bacta supply of Bacta Limited and now they have sent a complaint…"

Then he opened the message Tycho had indicated….a few seconds later he was joining his XO in his fits of giggling…ahem….manly laughter.

Wes came in twenty minutes late. He had a relatively late shift today, starting at eighthundred, but he still wished for his bed and a nice big steaming cup of caf.

Or…don't mention the word drinks. Sith, his head was twice its usual size. He headed to Wedge's office, intent on reporting for duty and then being on his way to the mess hall to get that cup of caf and then…maybe get started on the datawork (and maybe fall asleep over it).

When he came closer to Wedge's office, he heard- giggling? Granted, manly giggling…but it did sound like Wedge and Tycho. He frowned. He had never heard Tycho giggle before.

He raised his fist and knocked.

Silence reigned suddenly. Then Wedge's voice came with barely-suppressed laughter. "Come in."

Wes entered the office…and saw Wedge sitting behind his desk. Tycho was standing in the corner with his lips pressed together. Wes frowned at him.

"You are late, Major," Wedge informed him, clasping his hands together.

Wes inwardly groaned. He so didn't need this now. "Yes, I know, sir, I am very sorry." Better not try and talk his way out of it, when Wedge was in his commander-mode. His head was sympathetically throbbing along.

"It got…late last night, didn't it Wes?" Wedge's question sounded serious enough, but there was something in his eyes. Tycho in the background started choking and spluttering. Wes wondered if he had eaten something bad for breakfast.

He looked back to Wedge, who was now wearing a decidedly evil grin, though there was barely held-back laughter in his eyes.

"Okay. What's going on?"

Tycho cracked up. Fits of laughter bent him nearly double and Wes found himself wondering if that was healthy.

"Ok," he grumbled. "Yes, it got late, and yes, my head is killing me, so could you two jokers just tell me what on Coruscant IS GOING ON?"  
Wedge dropped the pretense of strict commander and fell on the table in helpless laughter.

Wes felt mildly insulted.

After minutes of Wes silently fuming, Wedge raised his head and cleared his throat.

"Major, since you are already late, I expect you to dance through your duties with a smile on your face today and with the same fervor that you displayed last night…"

Wes' frown slowly changed into a glare. "Alright. Tell me now 'cause it is just not funny."  
Wedge didn't reply, not in words anyway. He just turned his datapad to Wes so he could see what the cause for the strange atmosphere in here was.

It was a take, complete with audio and video, clearly taken last night and Wes wanted to bang his head against the desk when he saw it. He tried to close his eyes but the images wouldn't go away- a video of him dancing and singing "Dancing in the Moonlight" out in the backyard, terribly off-key but clearly convinced of himself…

Something occurred to him and he took a look at the sender. Then, face like a thundercloud, he stormed out of the office.

Tycho, meanwhile, quickly composed a message to Hobbie, telling him to run…

_-Fin-  
_

_

* * *

tbc very soon-look for an update in the next two weeks  
_


	21. Wedge Antilles: The little things

_Hi! Me again, I am not waiting so long to update the story this time. Thank you very much for your review,** TriGemini ! **Please, if there is someone else still reading this- I would be really happy if you left me a review! Reviews make my day..._

_This is just a little Wedge vignette while the long Hobbie story is still work in progress, but it will be finished soon. In the meantime, I hope you like this oneshot._

_-Sachita (-;  
_

* * *

**The little things**

* * *

**Yavin IV, 0 ABY**

It's the little things, Wedge thinks, as he, steps heavy, enters the small room that Jek and Biggs slept in. It's not in the big things- it's not the big memorial ceremony that is going to be held just before the festivities tomorrow- something that makes him always smile bitterly. It just seems wrong to celebrate when they have lost so many.

But how would he know? He has seen many friends and comrades fall, that much is true, but apparently it will get different over the years. He remembers going to Commander Garvin Dreis with the same complaint, a few months ago. "It does not seem right to celebrate when we mourn so many," he had said. The Commander had looked at him in his gruff way and Wedge had almost thought he would get brushed off, but then he had been taken aside: "Son, you are still young," the Commander had sighed. "I have been doing this job for long years now, and I am telling you, it won't get any easier. But you have to appreciate the little moments of joy and celebration in-between, honor them for what they are, because by honoring them you also honor the memory of the fallen."

Wedge had looked doubtful.

"But-"he had said, yet the Commander had simply shaken his head. "You will understand in time."

Now, the Commander is dead. As are Jek Porkins and Biggs Darklighter, along with nearly the entire Squadron, save for him and Luke. Still, there are many more to name who perished.

Now, standing in the room and looking at what is left of two of his friends, Wedge just feels empty. The guilt will come later, he knows as much. Young he may be, but he already knows that guilt, that choking unforgiving companion that will come to him in silent moments, whispering "If you hadn't pulled out maybe Biggs would still be alive." "I had severe engine damage!" is what he will retort, yet the voice will not be silenced: "Are you completely certain that there is nothing you could have done? Didn't you pull out too early? Maybe you could have done something, how would you know?"Wedge exhales and shakes his head as if he wishes to shake off bad memories.

The beds are unmade. A small statue stands on the night-desk- "I won it in a pod race," Biggs had said and for a moment Wedge can see him- the black hair and the mustache, twisted in a smile. On the other night-desk are Jek's gambling cards. Wedge often tried to beat him in a game, yet he never succeeded. "It's the cards," Jek had commented with a wide grin. "It's all because of the cards- they are my lucky charm." Really, another night they had used other cards and Jek had lost.

Wedge sits down on one of the beds, something sharp in his throat. It's the little things, he thinks. The little things- a name crossed out from the duty roster, a pair of boots sitting abandoned in a corner, a holo showing a smiling mustached youth and his family….

It's the little things and somehow the little things are the big things, the things that leave your hands shaking and your eyes burning. He wonders how on Coruscant he is supposed to deal with so much loss, so much death without going mad and stifles a sob as it hits him again. It feels as if something heavy is sitting on his chest. He remembers another question he once asked the Commander.

"How can you deal with so much death?"

The Commander had looked partly sorrowful, partly impatient and Wedge had wondered how often he had been asked that particular question.

"Like I said, it never gets easier, but eventually you will form your own coping strategies. And with every death, you get more used to the losses. You learn to appreciate the days when you lose no-one."

"But I don't want to!" Wedge had replied heatedly, enraged. "I don't want to get used to it!"

And now, here, sitting on the bed of his dead friend, with shaking hands, a pounding heart and tears running freely, he wonders whether he wishes to get used to it or not.

He doesn't know the answer and somehow, that makes him more afraid than anything else.

_-fin-_

_

* * *

tbc  
_


	22. Hobbie Klivian: The only thing

_Hi everyone! I think I have too much time on my hands at the moment so I can update a lot quicker than I would otherwise. Sadly, that's going to change soon- university is waiting- but I will still update regularly. Promise. And not regularly as in "a gap of one and a half years" (or was it?) I won't leave it alone for so long, no. In fact there is that long Hobbie story- but I am thinking of posting it separately because it is really long and getting longer still and not really something one would define as oneshot anymore...and something else, too, that will be up very soon (-: But I have rambled long enough. Thank you for your wonderful reviews, **TriGemini**, **Jaeh**, **diadraconis** and **WestAero13**! I hope you like this chapter, too.  
_

_-Sachita_

* * *

**The only thing**

* * *

_Sometimes he wondered how he could have possibly survived up to now._

The thought hit him out of nowhere while he was sitting- reclining more- on his narrow bunk opposite Wes, listening to his wingman chattering on about one of his adventures involving a female Bothan, an angry Ithorian and a lot of Whyren's Reserve. The thought was so overwhelming and sudden that he stared at Wes for a whole two minutes with an empty expression while his wingman was waiting for a reply.

"Hello, Coruscant to Hobbie!" Wes looked at him more closely. "Are you alright, Hobbie?"

"I think I have to go, Wes," he mumbled as a reply, and still completely immersed in his thoughts got up and walked by Wes as if on autopilot, oblivious to the other's concerned look.

His boots made soft padding sounds on the stone floor of their temporary base. The base itself, an old castle-like structure on a tiny lush planet was one of their hideouts. However, the Alliance had scattered all over the galaxy after Yavin IV.

Splitting up had seemed like a good idea for the first months after the demise of the Death Star at Yavin IV and as such, many hideouts like this were currently in use by the Rebel Alliance. Many of them were wanted by the Empire and since the latter was willing to pay high prices, many bounty hunters had taken it upon themselves to look for them all across the galaxy.

For now, laying low and letting the Intelligence branch scout out the situation seemed to be the best option. The peace was treacherous for the Starfighter Squadrons though- they often flew out to deliver lightning attacks on the Imperial Fleet only to disappear in hyperspace again. So far the strategy had worked well and Rogue Squadron had just come back from such a mission…Had worked well, but it had cost them one of their new flight officers as well.

Hobbie's fingers danced nervously through the air as if he was fighting off invisible TIEs and Imperial forces. He hadn't been long with Rogue Squadron, having been stationed in another part of the Alliance before and his comrades were only slowly warming to him. Wes was starting to become a good friend, but Hobbie could not be around him at the moment.

* * *

He felt curiously numb as he walked through the long dim corridors, passing faces after faces. The aftershocks of the battle hit him one by one- the fiery explosion of Flight Officer Tando Nitesh's fighter- he had been with them just one week- his own black-gloved hands, trembling on the controls, the taste of blood as he bit his tongue, concentrating so hard on the fight that he only absent-mindedly felt the beginnings of a bad headache- dancing, flirting with death all the while—and he remembered a single thought that had entered his brain while dodging the green lasers of TIEs and TIE-Interceptors-

_**What were they? Crazy? Crazy to pull these death-defying stunts all the while, fighting for something that would probably turn out to be nothing but a beautiful illusion?**_

Hobbie took a deep breath and stopped in the middle of a corridor, oblivious to the bemused glances of fellow Rebels passing him by. He was here now. He had made it. For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe out and for that realization to sink in- for danger to finally release him from her clutches.

He was pilot and the danger was their Mistress, their constant companion on each and every one of their missions and every pilot knew her intimately. She was such an inconsistent comrade, flirtatious on one day, insidious and vindictive on another. But they had to play her game when they weaved through the green light of enemy lasers, danced through space and defied death again and again. Hobbie could close his eyes and envision the white streaks of hyperspace fly by him while on the way to their dogfight and could hear his own breaths, quick due to the rush of adrenaline that kept him alive in the heat of each upcoming battle.

Battles were hectic, quick-lived and destructive. Death was a legitimate dance partner, the first to be invited to each fight and always the last to go. In reality it never left. Each of them carried it with them- on the kill marks on their X-wings, in the memory of the faces of lost comrades and it was also there whenever they pressed the trigger.

Death-bringers. He had not wanted to be one when he had first become a pilot, but had had to realize that the one and the other came hand in hand. Hobbie couldn't have been someone else. He was addicted to the thrill of flight, the constant motion, the sometime reckless stunts that left your blood roaring and your hands shaking.

Maybe he was also addicted to the kill- a part of him that frightened him often; this cold unmerciful feeling when he had vaped an Imp- they had brought so much death over the galaxy and they deserved it. But nevertheless, in the aftermath, he could not help but be cowardly glad that he had not seen their faces when they went out with a bang. It made things easier- easier to press the trigger, easier to paint the kill marks, easier to try and forget.

But he couldn't forget and he could also envision what it was like when those nameless, faceless pilots faced their demise- he had been close to death himself often enough to know what it was like in those panicked minutes – the flames engulfing you, the heat choking you, the sudden icy grip of fear, the awareness that this flight would be your last….

Hobbie had played death's game often; he remembered what it was like to be a TIE pilot in service of the Empire- flying a fighter with no shields was thrilling in a way- so close to space itself, just a thin metal pane between him and his demise. Of course he was glad for his shields- they made the X-wing maybe slower than the TIEs, but also served to bring him back to base so that he might live another day.

He shuddered at his own thoughts and walked further until he came in a storage room, filled with nameless crates that seemed nearly eerie in the fading light of the evening.

* * *

The large windows made up nearly the whole west-faced wall of the room. Slender white window frames made out of the wood only found on this particular planet formed a contrast to the cream-colored walls surrounding the windows. Hobbie stepped closer.

The sun was just setting deep in the west and its resplendent red beauty made the lone young man shudder inwardly at so much magnificence. The sun's dying light was peculiar, colouring the Rebel base and Hobbie's face golden. He stood there mutely, staring at all the lavish luminous radiance this world had to offer. It was so silent; no sounds permeated the air around him.

For some reason he could not remember the last time he had experienced such silence and he suddenly felt very small indeed, while the sun sunk lower on the horizon. Its light lay like a golden cloak over the rolling green hills of this planet, caressed its dark woods and blue rivers and finally touched down on the horizon as a glowing red ball of pure brilliance. He was nearly struck dumb when it finally hit him, when he finally understood in light of that majestic spectacle, so mundane, yet extraordinary in every aspect. This was what they were fighting for.

They were fighting for this moment, for each new day. They were fighting so that the galaxy might experience a sunset like this, free and not suppressed by the machinations of a tyrannical dictatorship. This was freedom. This was everything. This was life.

The epiphany hit him with full force and he stayed there for a long time, motionless, waiting until the sun's last red rays made way for the encroaching darkness, the silver light of the two moons and the first stars that started to glimmer palely on the blue line of the horizon.

* * *

A slight sound behind him startled him a long time later and he turned around, taking care to do so quietly. A person had come in- a woman, her figure shrouded by her long dark tresses and the midnight-hued cloak that trailed after her on the ground. She walked over to another window without noticing him and gazed out at the stars.

The light of the two moons cast a strangely ethereal light on her pretty features and Hobbie shuddered a little because she seemed more like a ghost to him.

Princess Leia.

He was reluctant to disturb her in her thoughts but he knew that he would have to move eventually.

Thus, he eventually cleared his throat softly. The Princess spun around, her dark eyes wide and her hand at the place where blasters were worn normally. For some reason it saddened him that she was so familiar with that gesture- someone who was amazing and exceptional in every way like her should not be used to all the implications that carrying a blaster brought with it. It was not as if he belittled her or underestimated her in any way as he had always admired her very much, even harboured a little crush on her like probably half of the Rebel Alliance did. She just seemed too good for a crude object of violence and blood like a blaster.

When she recognised him, she relaxed and smiled at him a bit shakily.

"My apologies, Princess Leia," Hobbie ventured, since he had been the one to intrude on her solitude by not announcing his presence in the first place. "I did not wish to disturb you."

Her composure regained, the Princess smiled at him warmly. "Oh please do not apologise," she said firmly. "You have been here before me. Also, it would be an honour to me if you could drop the Princess and just leave it at Leia." She tugged at her brown strands in frustration. "I do not feel much like a Princess tonight." The last part had been a mutter yet Hobbie had heard it nonetheless. He did not comment though as he knew that it was not his place to do so.

"The honour is mine, Prin-Leia," he corrected hastily, eliciting a soft laugh. Reddening rapidly, he extended his hand before retracting it again, knowing that what was custom on Ralltiir often did not adhere to the Galactic Standard. Leia smiled warmly and took his hand before he could pull it back.

"My name is Hobbie Klivian, Ma'am," he said hurriedly and somewhat embarrassedly. Her hand was warm in his.

"Hobbie?" she asked, the brown eyes questioning.

There he went, kriffing it all up again. "I am sorry," he apologised again.

"Derek, but friends call me Hobbie."

"Then it would be an honour if you would allow me to call you Hobbie, too," Leia told him, her face very serious. Hobbie had composed himself again- it was disconcerting to be that close to her because she was truly beautiful and it was confusing his senses, although he knew he would never say anything. She was the Princess for Sith's sake.

"You may do so, of course," he said nervously.

Another smile hushed over her face, but her eyes remained sad. "You are a pilot, are you not?"

He linked his hands behind his back, a force of habit that made him feel safer in a way. "Yes, I am. Rogue Squadron."

For some reason Leia didn't seem happy to hear him confirm her notion. She turned away from him, back to the window and the moon and stars, muttering: "They keep dying."

Again something that he apparently had not been meant to hear – or he wasn't too sure- but after some moments of silent conflict he joined her at the window.  
"If I may ask, Leia, what were you thinking about when I disturbed you? Before?" She looked up at him- he was quite a bit taller than her- and under the sharp look of the brown eyes he quickly added a: "If I may ask."

"Stop apologising," Leia replied and there was a note of impatience in her voice but it quickly made way for weary resignation. "You are under Luke's command then?"

Hobbie straightened a bit at the name of his Commander and replied with a somewhat stiff:"Yes, Ma'am- I mean, Yes, Leia."

"You haven't been with the Squadron for very long though," she commented thoughtfully. "I sure would have seen you around before otherwise."

"No, I was stationed elsewhere with the Alliance's troops before," Hobbie explained, but felt compelled to add under her contemplative look: "And I was with the Empire before that. I defected."

"You graduated from the Imperial Academy?" Her question was neither accusing nor condemning, but Hobbie felt stung nonetheless. "I did," he replied in a somewhat subdued manner, suddenly feeling horrible for what he had been once. "You know," he added very quietly, unable to look her in the eye, "for what it's worth I am sorry about Alderaan."

There was a gentle hand on his arm. "Are you always that hard to yourself?" Hobbie looked up and the brown pools were just inches away from his face. It was intoxicating being that close to her and he found that he could not look away.

"It was not your fault that my planet was obliterated," she said calmly, but with a deep underlying sadness, "it was only the Empire's fault. You saw the error in their ways and decided to join the Movement for Freedom. As such, you are as wonderful and exceptional as any other Alliance fighter around here."

"Thank you," Hobbie mumbled shyly. She was still that close and he felt almost intimidated. Leia laughed softly and stepped back. "Don't tell me you, too."

Hobbie oddly enough felt the need to defend himself and his little crush on her. "Me along with half the Alliance," he replied boldly.

Leia was silent for a moment and then chuckled. "I suppose I should be flattered. Tell me, Hobbie. What would you do if we were just two normal young people out for a night of fun in a bar and you happened to see me there?" There was a strange glint in her eye and Hobbie understood that he needed to be careful with his words.

"I would ask you for your name and I would tell you that you are very beautiful," he said earnestly. "And then I would ask you why you look so sad."

She did not seem to have expected that answer and she reared back a little and then dragged a hand through her long tresses.

"It's just," she started slowly, sounding very tired, "you." She motioned with a pale hand to him. He was confused. What about him?

Princess Leia smiled at his bewildered look. "I suppose I have spoken in riddles. I wasn't referring to you specifically. It's just-"and the words seemed to come hard to her, which struck Hobbie as odd since he knew of her normal eloquence.

"You keep dying," she said finally. "All the military personnel, but especially the pilots, seem to die in the dozens, while I sit here and calculate battle strategies. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if it is all for naught, if we all live and die for a fool's dream of a galaxy that will never exist."

"Do not reproach yourself," Hobbie said impulsively, struggling to find the right words. He felt inadequate standing there in front of her since he knew of her talent with words- she was a diplomat, a born leader and words came as easily to her as blaster bolts were fired off by others. Yet he knew that he had to try.

"While it is certainly true, that many have died and many more will die- they joined up because they believed in something. They always knew that they could die." He held her intense brown gaze earnestly.

"We are pilots, Leia, you mustn't forget that. We always live for the thrill of the next moment and when dirt-side wait with baited breath and shaking hands for our next flight, the next time when we can reach for the stars and be quicker than the light itself. We are addicts and you mustn't forget that either. If death was inevitable, a death in an explosion will always be preferable to anything else to a pilot. So those men who died were as happy as they could be- becoming one with the stars and never returning to the ground is the way they would have chosen to go out if they had had to choose."

Leia didn't seem convinced. Softly, she said: "But they wouldn't be dead if they hadn't joined up and they wouldn't have had to choose anything because they would still be alive."

Hobbie hesitated, but then continued. Where else could he say these words to here other than here, were they were just Leia and Hobbie, lost in their own world of doubts? Here where no-one judged and the silence was all-encompassing and comforting?

"I was watching the sunset earlier," he said thoughtfully. "The sun coloured the horizon red and the land golden. Its luminous radiance was so beautiful that I can't even describe it to you. You know what I thought in that moment? I thought that this was exactly what we are fighting for- a galaxy where people have time to appreciate the beauty of each sunset without fearing the next day. We are fighting so that people have reason to look forward to the next day- a day without humiliation, forced servitude and violence; instead a day spent in freedom, a day on which they can make free choices.

You, Princess Leia- Leia, I mean, contribute to that dream as much as we do, just in a different way. I do not envy you as you get to make the worst decisions, but everyone knows that you do it as well as you can and we admire you for that. The Alliance needs us all, Leia- people like me, but also people like you. We are no different in what we sacrifice."

* * *

Leia was silent when he had ended and suddenly the silence seemed oppressive. Suddenly terribly uncomfortable, Hobbie lowered his gaze. "But I am just a pilot," he mumbled.

"Not just a pilot," Leia corrected. Her soft touch on his cheek made him shudder and she trailed her fingers lower, tilting his chin up and forcing him to look in her eyes.

"I thank you for what you said, Derek. Hobbie. If I may ask- where are you from?"

"Ralltiir," he replied, unsure where she was headed.

"I have been to Ralltiir once," she smiled warmly."It is a beautiful planet, so diverse in landscapes and population. In fact we first heard from the Death Star on Ralltiir. Do you miss your home, Hobbie?"

He shrugged. Quietly he said: "I have no big hopes of seeing it ever again, Leia."

"Do not contradict yourself!" she cried. Her eyes were shining with sadness, but also with a hope that hadn't been there before.

"I wish to thank you for your earlier words. I was losing hope and you gave it back to me. As such, I will try to do the same for you, Hobbie. You will see Ralltiir again, even if it's only this hope that keeps you alive. I won't see Alderaan again, but you have the chance to see your home again someday. We just have to keep on clinging to that hope, as dark as the night might seem for all of us at times. There will always be a new sunrise and one day, we will wake up and the Empire will be defeated. The galaxy will be free. The children of our generation will be able to do as they please, will be able to go about their lives as they wish. No one will have to fear persecution, imprisonment and death by a dictator's hands again. We have to keep that hope alive, Hobbie. In the end it's only the hope that gives us an advantage over the Empire's troops. We have something to fight for- they don't."

Hobbie felt how her words indeed filled his heart with hope and eradicated the shadow of doubt that had been hanging over him the previous evening. He longed to get his hands back on the controls of his X-wing, mindful of the danger that came with it, but also longing to do something for the dream they all shared. The thin line of the horizon was already getting lighter and he turned to the window.

"Look, Leia," he said. "The night is over."

She turned and came to stand next to him. The pale light of early dawn accentuated her graceful features and enhanced the determination on her face.

"The only thing we have," she mumbled as they watched the sun rise to embrace the new day.

"The only thing we have," Hobbie repeated quietly and then they were silent for a long time.

"Maybe we will die fighting for freedom," Leia eventually said softly and as she turned to him he could see that there were tears in her eyes, "but our actions, Derek Klivian, are immortal."

Hobbie looked out of the window and pondered the magnificent beauty of the sunrise…

* * *

_tbc  
_


	23. Fab Four: Night before and morning after

_Hi everyone! It's taken me some time to update, sorry about that, but university kept me busy. This is just a bit of light-hearted fun including Wedge, Wes, Tycho and Hobbie. Again, this has been co-written with my good friend **Nebelelbin** (-: The basic idea is- what happens when Wedge, Wes, Tycho and Hobbie are let loose in Coruscant at night. After all the angst in the last chapters it was really high time that they got a bit stress relief and fun. I truly hope you like this chapter. The next one will be probably up in a few weeks, if I get it done in time and if university doesn't try to kidnap me in the meantime.  
_

_Finally, thank you so much for your reviews, **TriGemini** and **WestAero13**! I am very happy that you are still reading!_

_-Sachita (-:_

_I am always happy about reviews- they make my week (-: and make the gloomy Autumn weather outside that much brighter (-:  
_

* * *

**The night before and the morning after**

**

* * *

**

**1. The day before**

"Guys! " Wedge, deep in a talk with Tycho about the way the Squadron had been handling itself over the last few months frowned and looked up. Hobbie in the corner, immersed in _something_ raised his head too and took his feet off of Tycho's desk. "What the kriff…" he mumbled. "I am working."

"I can see that," Tycho commented, raising his eyebrows at the game of "Rancor versus Space Crab" on Hobbie's screen. "And what were your feet doing on my desk anyway?"

"Nothing," Hobbie replied innocently. "Taking a little rest."

"Guys!" Again it came, louder than before, announcing that the owner of the voice was on his way to meet them.

Wedge sighed and looked at Tycho. "Can we lock the door?"

Tycho nodded his assent. "Yeah. We can." The door slid shut.

Suddenly Wes was outside the little transparisteel pane in Wedge's door. He was shouting and gesturing like crazy. Hobbie frowned and looked at the way Wes' mouth was rapidly opening and closing. "That's not better," he grunted and went back to his game.

Tycho raised his hands in surrender. "He's right. I hate it when he's right."

Wedge swore under his breath. "He probably won't believe us if we tell him the door has a malfunction anyway."

"No," Tycho and Hobbie chorused.

"We will hear whatever he wants to tell us anyway today," Wedge went further.

"Yes," was the exasperated reply.

Wedge decided to go on. "So it can't hurt to let him in."

"Maybe not physically," Hobbie commented dourly.

Tycho frowned at them. "Stop it." He sighed and opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Such a cheerful greeting from you, Tycho o Tycho, and that so early on this jolly joyful cheerful morning!" Wes- and of course it was Wes, exclaimed happily.

"Maybe it's got something to do with you coming here for the third time today even though it's only ten-hundred in the morning," Hobbie mumbled from his place in the corner.

"Hey!" Wes said in mock upset fashion. "You are my wingman and as such you are supposed to help me here!" He took another look at Hobbie. "What on Coruscant are you doing here anyway?"

Tycho and Wedge seemed to be interested in his answer, too, and with three heads turned his way, Hobbie finally looked up from his game and gave them his best what-me?-look.

"Ummm…I talked with Tycho about the new transfers from Blue Squadron- you know- umm- the newbies," he finally replied slowly.

Tycho raised a blond eyebrow and stared Hobbie down. Under the piercing blue glare, Hobbie shrunk in his seat. "That was over an hour ago, Hobbie. He is right- what the kriff are you still doing here?"

"Are you trying to get around your duties for today, Major?" Wedge piped in. "Because I recall assigning you to make the new duty roster for next month."

Hobbie chuckled nervously, an odd reaction shown by him whenever he was in a tight situation.  
"Uhhh…maybe, sir. I really can't recall anything of that sort or I would have already been working on it…" There was a heavy pause. Hobbie started to sweat. "So what did you want to tell us about so urgently, Wes?"

Wes grinned at him. Wedge gave Hobbie a look that spoke volumes while Tycho rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting off the beginnings of a bad headache.

"Oh you see, my dear friends…" If anything, his grin grew bigger. "I smell the stench of deep trouble," Wedge said. "What is it?"

"You, me, Tycho, Hobbie. Today evening. Nineteen-hundred. On time. Meeting-point: Wedge's apartment. So what do you say?"

"What the kriff, Wes?" Wedge growled.

"A new bar has opened and it's a wonderful place or so my friend Face from Wraith Squadron has told me."

"You been hanging around with Face, Wes?" Wedge groaned. "It can't be good."

Hobbie piped up: "Hey, we haven't been on a night out for what- ages? After all this kriffing business with the Imps lately we deserve some downtime, right?"  
Tycho's glare had laser-strength quality. "Hobbie…" he said slowly in a tone of voice that said "you-have-kriffed-up-too-much-already-today-so-shut-up". Hobbie raised his hands in surrender and gave an innocent look- Hobbie was a master at those looks: "Shutting up, Tych."

Wedge suddenly began: "Well…"

Tycho spun around to face him so quickly that he nearly gave himself whiplash. "No!"

There was a longer silence and under the looks of the other three, he finally relented. "Okay. Fine," he said sourly.

Wes punched the air with a fist. "Yeah!"

Hobbie looked at him accusingly. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? You've been planning this for weeks now! I know that look on your face, I know it, I know it…!"

Wes shrugged. A grin slowly appeared on his face. "I admit it."

"Wes," Hobbie growled. His fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Wes grinned: "See you at nineteen-hundred hours." He smiled cheekily at Wedge. "And, you see, I can be a good subordinate officer. I am taking your little problem with me and make sure he gets some work done."

Wedge and Tycho were watching speechlessly, as Wes dragged a protesting Hobbie out of his chair and out of the door.

"Never thought I'd be so happy about one of Wes's visits," Wedge commented finally.

"Except the bar thing, of course," Tycho whined. "I keep wondering what on Coruscant we said yes to."

Wedge slung a friendly arm around his shoulders. "C'mon, Tych. Loosen up. Have some fun."

Tycho stared at him, askance. "Who are you and what the kriff have you done with Wedge?"

* * *

_Nineteenhundred Hours and Zero Seconds, Wedge's apartment_

Hobbie came stumbling around the corner, panting greatly. "I made it," he gasped.

"We can see that," Tycho commented coolly, as always impeccably dressed and punctual to the minute- well, actually he had been there for ten minutes already, but ssshh. Wedge was dragging his hands through his hair. Hobbie raised an eyebrow: "Not combed today, have you?"

Wedge cleared his throat, mumbling something about early mornings, Admiral Ackbar and long briefings, before leveling a glare at the fourth invisible person. "Where the kriff is Wes?"

"Oh that's rich," Hobbie smirked. "That's rich."

"Indeed," Tycho said. "If he takes longer than five minutes, he gets all the datawork for next month. This was his idea."

The sound of running. "Guys!" for the umpteenth time that day. Wes came careening around the corner, nearly slamming into Tycho.

Tycho, already a little irritated, drily raised an eyebrow. "Charming."

Wes was beaming. "Nice to see that you are all on time ! We can go!"

The others stared at him wordlessly.

* * *

**2. The Night **

A multi-colored flashing sign appeared out of the darkness when they turned a corner.

"Hang-O-Bar" it said.

"Really?" Hobbie looked skeptical, and then turned to Wes. "Has anyone hung himself here?"

Wes rolled his eyes. "Don't be so negative, Hobbs."

Next to the door was a sign saying "Ewoks welcome" and "Tanaabian Dance Parties every Wednesday- Cheer up, Folks!"

Wedge was about to comment on Wes's obvious choice, when his words literally got stuck in his mouth, when he got a glimpse of a large red sign proclaiming in bold letters "KARAOKE TONIGHT!"

"Wes…" he said in trepidation.

Wes sighed. His tone of voice was very reasonable, which scared Wedge some more- Wes didn't do reasonable. He didn't. "Oh come on Wedge, don't be silly. We can sit back, relax and laugh at the others."

"I like that idea," Tycho suddenly commented with a feral grin.

Hobbie looked at him, aghast. "Sadistic streak, Tych?"

Tycho shook his head, but the grin didn't waver. "Me? Never."

They entered the bar. It was a medium-sized bar, divided in two rooms- a room with a counter and another, bigger room with a stage and several booths.

"Come on, guys,"- again that word!- "you take a seat, first drink's on me."

"Well, at least something." Tycho was still not amused.

Hobbie looked on in terror. "What is it?" Wedge asked.

"You realise you are allowing Wes to get us something to drink, right? You know his taste, right?"

"I think that could be the least of our worries," Tycho said, nodding to a group of non-humanoids and a humanoid, sitting some booths away. "Bounty-hunters," he said grimly.

Bounty-hunters, the scum of the galaxy. However, the four did not seem to be particularly interested in them. They had shortly looked up when they had entered, then lowered their heads to their drinks again.

"Not a problem," Wedge commented and thus, everything settled to their contentment, they sat down.

Hobbie was the first one to rise. "Right, in about ten minutes of time you will see me leaving this place with that very beautiful chick over there. Seriously." he announced very gravely.

"Keep dreaming," Tycho and Wes chorused.

"No. I mean it. Seriously. Definitely. Really."

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

_#1: Hobbie, stone-sober ("Never a good idea. I am doomed, as usual.")_

Hobbie sat down at the bar next to a few empty stools. A few stools away, the object of his desires, a pretty-faced blue-skinned Twi'Lek Lady, gave him a sideways look before looking away again.

Ah, playing hard to get. Hobbie waited until she looked his way again and gave her his best soulful look, something that he knew would make his blue eyes stand out and gave his hair a short ruffle...

A romantic tune was starting up from the karaoke section.

"Excuse me," Hobbie called out to the bartender. "A drink for the Lady, please. Whatever she likes."  
The Twi'Lek ordered Whyren's Reserve. Hobbie could practically see the credit chips leave his wallet. Ah well. It wouldn't matter if it all turned out well.

After paying the drink and after some more minutes had passed, the Twi'Lek eventually got up and sat down next to him in a graceful manner.

"So why did you order me a drink, Mister?" she asked and coyly threw one of her Lekkus back over her shoulder. Hobbie eyed her appraisingly.

What to say? Something clever- She had looked a bit down-trodden and sad before...so...women appreciated honesty, didn't they?

"Well," he said in his most charming tone, "you looked as though you could use it."

The Twi'Lek's flirtatious manner abruptly disappeared. "Thank you so much," she said coolly. "I had a kriffing day and now you go and make it even better."

With that, she turned on her heel and vanished in the thickening crowd. Hobbie groaned and let his head fall against the smooth counter of the bar. "Sithspit."

* * *

_Some time and some drinks later..._

...Wedge was half-way sober. The bar had become more crowded in the meantime and there was a very pretty girl sitting on a stool. He decided he'd try his luck.

"Drink up, Rogues," he announced and got up. Hobbie looked after him mournfully: "Oh, he will crash and burn. I know it. He will tell one of his jokes out of his Wedge-Antilles-joke-box and he will crash and burn. Crash and burn, doo dee daa... crash and burn...doo dee daa..."

"What the kriff?" Tycho said. "Yeah, my sentiments exactly," Wes whispered back and together they stared somewhat worriedly at Hobbie, who was now swaying to and fro to the singing of the first karaoke candidate. It was a Rodian who was belting out "I looooove you soooo much," but judging from his cadence, he could have also been singing "I killlllllll you right noooooow".

"Sithspit, that's awful."

Hobbie seemed to agree, because his singing of crashing and burning got louder, thus attracting the attention of an irate Zabrak who seemed to be looking for trouble.

He came to their table, snarling. "Shut up! I wish to listen to the beautiful singing of my friend!"

Hobbie frowned at him and ceased his singing. "Seria- seriousis-...really?"

The Zabrak glared. "Yeah! His singing voice could lull babes to sleep and you go and destroy it all!"

Tycho stared at him. What the kriff. "Rogue Squadron," he said in his sternest voice. "Get lost."

"Yeah," Wes chimed in. "You wanna know what we did to the Death Stars?"

The Zabrak backed away. "Nooo," he said. "Calm down. Just wanna listen to my friend..."

Hobbie shook his head. "Kriff off. _You_ are a pathetic excuse for a Zabrak." His face returned to his mournful look. "I was looking forward to beating him up."  
Tycho quickly changed topics. "What about Wedge?"

* * *

_#2: Wedge, halfway sober ("Completely, man! Or is it completelely?")_

Wedge, meanwhile, had worked up the courage by way of a few drinks to take a seat next to the pretty girl. He felt so out his depth- give him a firefight and Imperials any day, but this...

"Hey," he said in his most charming voice. "You know the one about the Mynock and the freighter? The freighter says to the Mynock- Is this your way of sucking up to me?"

No reaction. The girl didn't even look his way.

"Hey, you get it? Sucking up to me? Huh?" Raucous laughter from Wedge, the only one of the two of them to appreciate the joke. The girl turned away.

* * *

"Oh, defin-defin- really!- crashed and burned."

"We get it, man," Wes said and reached over to pat Hobbie's hand. The awesome collection of shot glasses in front of Hobbie told them that their friend was working his way to being very drunk.

Tycho was thoughtfully starting a peanuts collection in front of him, trying every throwing technique he had ever learned over the course of his career- and being a trained officer of the New Republic, there were a lot of them...mostly learned in Wedge's briefings.

Wes took a long look at the two of them and then at the depressed-looking Wedge at the bar.

Amateurs.

Now he would show them how a real man went about winning a girl's heart. "Watch," he said and went off in a rather grand fashion.

* * *

_#3: Wes- pleasantly buzzed ("but not drunk!")_

Growing up in the rural part of Taanab, Wes had learned a few survival tricks early on in life- and he had well, transformed a few of them. He couldn't go around waving a knife in the Lady's face, could he? That was what the trick had been about, but when first entering the even more dangerous grounds of feminine likes and dislikes, he had taken to carrying a rose around hidden in his sleeve.

He chose one that fit in his predator scheme. Ah- there. Nice long legs, nice long red hair, nice smile, nice freckles- very nice indeed. Now he would try his luck. She was there with some of her friends- he could do this. No challenge at all. No. He would look good in front of a bunch of girls, charming, understanding, sweet- the dream of all Ladies.

"Excuse me, love," he said in his sultriest voice.

The red-head turned to look at him. She was looking curious.

With an elegant flourish, Wes withdrew the red rose from his sleeve, making it look as if he had just procured it out of thin air.

"A beautiful flower for a beautiful Lady."

She giggled nervously and allowed him to hand her the flower and kiss her hand. She was blushing.

"What is your name, dear?" he inquired softly.

"Margaret, but my friends call me Meggy," she replied in a breathy voice. Wes frowned a bit inwardly- she seemed a bit too eager. But why was he complaining? Still, the easier ones were boring. But he decided to keep it up. He was the professional and these amateurs deserved a good example.

"Margaret," he replied. "What a beautiful name. As far as I know it means pearl, doesn't it?"

Suddenly a peanut hit the back of his head. Wes frowned, turned around. Nothing.

In his corner, Tycho smiled smugly.

"So what do you do?" she inquired coyly.

Wes gave her a calculating look and stated proudly: "I am a pilot."

Her whole coy demeanour changed suddenly to make way for horror. "In the military?"

"Umm, yes," Wes replied, somewhat taken aback.

"I had a boyfriend who was in the military and you know what happened? What he did to me? He never called me, never had time for me, not even on my birthday, never, ever, always the military here, the military there..."  
Wes felt how seriousness overwhelmed him. "You know that we do this to protect a lot of people, no?" he challenged.

"I don't care!" she screeched.

Wes withdrew the hand that had been lying on her thigh. He felt as if she had just personally insulted him and everything he had ever done in his life and he slid down from the stool. This wasn't fun. He turned away from her and walked back to the booth.

* * *

_#4 Tycho, drunk ("Don't worry, only slightly...")_

Tycho was throwing peanuts and enjoying himself. Wes had just left, Hobbie had gone to the restrooms and Wedge was ...somewhere. There was no one left in the booth save for him and the booze. Booth 'n' booze. He chuckled a bit at his own wording.

A girl slid down in the booth to sit next to him.

"What are you doing?" she inquired, blue eyes wide.

"Throwing peanuts," Tycho replied plainly.

"Yeah..." she said. "I can see that. But why?"

"Just because," Tycho said, never looking up. He aimed carefully at the back of Wes's head and looked quickly down when Wes felt the back of his head and looked around.

"So, you interested?" the girl started.

Tycho concentrated on his peanuts assortment. "I have a fiancée," he said matter-of-factly.

The girl frowned and left.

Tycho, meanwhile composed a message to his beloved Winter: "Darling, I am throwing peanuts at Wes..." A message came back: "So why did you go out? You could have done that at home. Go on, sweetheart, sing a karaoke song for me..." Tycho grinned and sent back: "Nope, throwing peanuts can do. Not drunk enough yet. Sorry, honey."

* * *

Hobbie returned, sporting both a bruise on his cheek and lipstick on his collar. Wes, who was returning too raised an eyebrow at him: "I did not know that the two could come as a pair..."

"Wellll," Hobbie drawled. "Y'see, y'prof-prof-professional." A silly grin adorned his face.

Wedge made his way over to them. "I got shot down," he said morosely. "Like me," Hobbie said. "Only that I shot myself down." "That's a new one," Tycho commented thoughtfully.

Wes, who seemed cross for some reason, banged his fists on the table. "Guys," –

-"Stop saying that"-

-"Guys,"-

"Oh come on!"

"I am buying you a drink!"

"Are you now, Wes?" Wedge still had enough of his faculties left to look suspicious. "Do you have a hidden agenda?"

"No,"Wes chirped. "Why would I? What do you say to a couple of Ice blasters?"

Hobbie scowled. "No. No ice. Ice is bad."

Tycho tried to pat his shoulder, but only succeeded on the second attempt. "Hey, s'all great, Hobbs. Just a drink. No ice. We will destroy the bad-bad ice! Don't worry, man..."

Wes smiled. "It's settled then. Drinks coming right up."

He stopped shortly at the bar to give a red-head the evil eye, which Wedge registered with bemusement because it was not like Wes to glare at pretty girls, then returned with said beverages, ice-blue liquid filled in shot glasses and adorned with greenish ice cubes.

"Th-that's ice blaster? Not like Hoth," Hobbie commented.

"Oh Sith, Hobbie, leave it will you?" Wedge shot back.

Wes toasted them with the drinks a few seconds later. "To Roguish awesomeness," he enunciated carefully. "We my friends, are cool."

"Cool," Tycho echoed. Hobbie, he saw, gulped the liquid down as if it was water.

"I conquered Hoth," he told them proudly. "Take that, Hoth!"

"Great, Hobbie," Tycho congratulated Hobbie while Wedge and Wes exchanged wry looks.

"I am going," Hobbie announced very seriously. He walked over to the counter in a very straight line, but then crashed against a stool.

* * *

_#5 Hobbie, drunk ("Sith, I conquered Hoth! I don't kriffin' care 'bout drunk or not...")_

"You are so pretty!" Hobbie announced to the owner of the stool he had just walked against. He nearly screamed the words.

"Gee," the humanoid female with the red eyes and green hair announced. "I heard you!"

"But it's true," Hobbie said plaintively in the same volume.

Without further ado, he grabbed her, dragged her down from the stool and pressed a burning kiss to her lips, bending her over in a truly spectacular fashion. Wedge, Wes and Tycho gaped.

Hobbie considered himself a good kisser- he had no explanation as to why he found himself with the Lady's drink spilled down the front of his shirt and a stinging cheek no minute later.

"Alright," he amended. "'M going.."

* * *

"Let's drink on Hobbie's misfortune," Wedge announced and gulped two drinks down at once.

Tycho eyed him and threw a peanut at him. The peanut ended up in Wes's hair instead.

"Come on, Tych," Wes complained and fished the peanut out of his dark locks with an angry expression. "What the kriff?"

Tycho didn't answer. With a concentrated expression, he threw another peanut at Wes. It disappeared down the front of his shirt. Wes lifted the shirt, found the peanut and ate it.

Tycho frowned at him. "That was my last peanut," he mumbled sadly.

Wedge, having gulped down another drink in the meantime, pushed a bowl filled with pistachios over to Tycho. "Don't be sad, man," he announced. "Best friend. Don' be sad."  
Tycho, as a response, launched a pistachio attack at him. "Best friend, too," he beamed. "Thanks."

Wes looked on in disgust. "Somebody please," he murmured. "Kill me now."

Hobbie came over from the counter and ended up falling and crashing against Wes's legs. "Ohh...Wes...I found you."

Wes stared at him, wondering why he was the one still halfway sober here. "Where's your coordination, Hobb?"

Hobbie shrugged. "Dunno. Musta been the last crash, lost it somewhere..." He looked sad.

Wedge, having discovered his "I am the CO and I have to help my Squadron"-streak, extended a hand to him. "Let- let me help you, Hob-bs."

Hobbie took the hand, but Wedge had overestimated his own balance. He fell backwards, over a table and knocked over a chair with an occupant.

* * *

_#6 Wedge, accidentally, completely drunk ("It's all Wes's fault...!")_

Wedge discovered himself to be lying on top of a woman.

"Oh, I am terribly, terribly sorry-" He took a good look at her.

"And you are really beautiful!"

"Get off of me, your nerf-herder!" she yelled.

Wes hauled him off the Lady, apologising profusely.

* * *

_# 7 Tycho, peanuts/pistachios ("Whatever that's supposed to mean...")_

"Hey gorgeous." It was a friend of the girl before. The latter was watching somewhat gleefully.

"Hey. I have pistachios."

Even Hobbie realised that that was the strangest comment ever. He fell on the table in helpless laughter.

"Wanna get to know me a little better?" The girl leaned closer and fluttered her thick lashes at him.

"I am married," Tycho deadpanned.

"Hey!" The girl in the background exclaimed. "You said you are engaged!"

"Same difference," Tycho shrugged and threw a pistachio at her. The girl hissed, grabbed her friend's elbow and disappeared with her, muttering something about "crazies."

* * *

Wes groaned. This was not fair. He chanced a look around. Tycho was throwing pistachios at random strangers. Hobbie was still lying on the table, laughing helplessly- he had done so for the last five minutes. Wedge was sleeping on his shoulder, mumbling "I feel baaaaaaaaad, Wes,...almost...as if I am going to be sick..."

Wes sighed. "Guys. You know what? Now we go singing." There were no complaints.

"I take that as yes."

Five minutes later, they were on the stage, belting out the lyrics of "Let me entertain you." Well, Wes was belting, the others were rather- umm, making up it as they went. They sang bravely through the chorus, but lagged in the separate verses.

They ended it on a high note and Wedge fell from the stage.

That finally prompted Wes to decide that maybe it was time to go home.

* * *

**3. The morning after**

He had hair in his mouth. No, maybe not hair. It felt like- pieces of a carpet? Anyway, ugh. After regaining control of his limbs, he flung a long arm out to the side. A loud scream was the result.

"Ouch, what the kriff, Wedge!"

Oh. His XO, the ever loyal Tycho Celchu.

"What are you doing on the floor?"

Tycho turned his head to regard him, his bloodshot eyes speaking of a long night and a short uncomfortable rest.

"You know, Wedge, if we are already on the topic: What are _you_ doing on the floor?"

Wedge replied: "Nothing anymore," and got to his feet veery slowly- well, after trying and failing to do so quicker. "Owwwww, my head hurts," he mumbled.

Wedge turned to assess the situation. Hobbie was sprawled inelegantly over a chair, snoring. It looked uncomfortable as hell. Tycho had rolled over on his back and stared up at him with bright eyes.

"How d'you reckon he can sleep in that position?" He pointed a lazy hand in Hobbie's direction. "Looks as comfortable as a kriffing board."

Wedge continued holding his head. "I don't care. Get up."

Tycho raised an eyebrow. "Giving out orders already so early in the morning, Wedge? Your head must really hurt."

After that statement, he got to his feet, quicker than Wedge but still not like Tycho Celchu on normal days. More like Tycho Celchu, forty years plus.

Wedge frowned at him. "Tycho, there is a pistachio in your hair. Why is there a pistachio in your hair?"

Tycho grinned. "It's the latest fashion, Wedge, didn't you know?" He took the pistachio and ate it.

Hobbie twitched and snored very loudly. Wedge narrowed his eyes. He made a move as if to wake him, but Hobbie had, even sleeping, anticipated this and, after giving another twitch fell off his chair with a loud thump.

"What?" He rolled over to his side and promptly into a combat crouch, looking wildly around. "Where is my blaster? Where is my kriffing X-wing? Where are the Imps? Where is Princess Leia? And where, where the kriff, are the kriffing Ewoks?"

Tycho shook his head. "You alright?" To Wedge, he remarked quietly: "Must have been a hard night."

"On that chair..." Wedge whispered back. "I am not surprised."

Hobbie, having arrived in the present again, glared at them darkly and got himself into a standing position carefully. "What. Have. We. Been. Doing?" He staggered to the couch and sank down on it, only to jump upright again when he encountered something hard. "A bowl of kriffing pistachios!"

"More pistachios..." Wedge looked mystified.

Tycho didn't look very upset. "You know, Boss, somehow I think it's all Wes's fault."

He went over to the refresher and put an ear against the door. "'S water runnin'..."

That had them awake in a matter of seconds. "Who do you reckon it is? Can't be Wes, he'd never get up in the middle of the night to take a shower. It's only frellin' oh seven hundred hours anyway..."

Tycho looked as if he might fall asleep again immediately. "What? You are telling me that we only slept for three hours?" He scowled. "Kriffin' military."

Hobbie smirked. "It's never wise to insult yourself, Tych."

"Oh shut it, Hobbs."

Wedge held his hand up and growled: "Battle strategy, guys. First- who is in our refresher?" He shot them a suspicious look. "Did any of you take someone home with you? I told you, no strays!" Tycho and Hobbie looked at each other, then at Wedge and shook their heads. Tycho elbowed Hobbie, whispering loudly: "He's got a headache. Ignore the orders so early on a Sunday morning."

Wedge shot them a sour look. "I heard that."

Hobbie snapped upright. "Yes, sir, very well, sir," he said, tongue in cheek and Wedge gave a little reluctant smile at their antics. "So, did you?" he repeated.

"No. Did you?" Hobbie asked suspiciously.

Wedge sent him a scandalised "I am your superior officer and as such would never even think of such a thing"-look and continued, ignoring him completely:" Second- where is Wes? Third- why is there a bowl of pistachios?"

His first question was answered by the lack of sound coming from the refresher. He put a hand on his lips and went to stand next to the door.

The door opened with a hiss. Petrified and with wide eyes, Hobbie and Tycho stared at it. They could only see the silhouette of someone in the water vapour drifting from out of the shower...and there was the sound of singing...?

"Is that..." Tycho began and Hobbie added: "...the Ewok celebration song from Endor?"

Wedge let his arms drop and braced himself on his thighs in order to launch an attack on the unknown person, when he got a good look at the one who had come out of the shower. "Why the hell are you wearing sunglasses, Wes?"

Wes, wrapped in a white towel and wearing large sunglasses that could only be described as funky, sniffed in obvious agony. "I have got such a headache! I drank far too little yesterday evening! And turn the lights up, will you? Can't see a thing."

"No." Wedge looked at him in horror.

Wes jumped a mile. "Why are you standing so close to me?"

Wedge stared at him. "I have talked to you before, Wes."

"I thought that was my inner voice..."Wes mused. "Oh the pains of being sober on a Sunday morning."

"Wes," Hobbie asked, sitting up and frowning suspiciously. "Care to explain the bowl of pistachios on the couch?"

Wes gave a wide smile and pushed the sunglasses up, revealing weary eyes. "That, my friends, was our Tychi over there."

"What are you calling me?" Tycho demanded to know.

"Tychi," Wes repeated gravely.

Tycho stuck his tongue out at him in a display of astounding maturity. "Whatever you say, Wessie."

"Kids these days." Hobbie got up, stretching, groaning about various pains as he did so.

"Oh shut it, Hobbo."

Hobbie, insulted, sat down on the couch again and gave them all a dark glare accompanied by a pout.

Wedge was gleeful. "I see you can't find a name for me. I heard them all already, be it Wedgie, Veggies, Vegs and so on."

"Well..." Wes drawled. "Never present such an obvious challenge to me, Wedg-O."

* * *

Suddenly, it knocked on the apartment door. On the screen of the surveillance camera they could see a petite blond woman with pretty features who was dressed smartly.

"Oh kriff," Tycho swore. "Winter."

He turned around to them, looking them over critically. "No. You are a state, all of you. Hobbie, you got Ralltiirian wine all over you, Wedge you look as if something ran you over and Wes- you are only wearing your towel! In the 'fresher, now! She's a Lady."

They obeyed with a lot of grumbling. "Only five minutes, Tych," Wedge warned.

"Yes, of course," Tycho answered smoothly and quickly grabbed a bottle of aftershave standing on a shelf. Wedge was looking at him in silent horror. "No, not that one, that's the one that the old Lady from next door-" But too late. Tycho had already done it. The results were catastrophic.

"Ewww," Wes complained. "Get out of the way of our noses."

Hobbie frowned. "What the kriff is that anyway? Smells like..."

"Okay," Wedge interfered quickly and shut the door on Tycho's horrified face. "Open the door for your Lady," he intoned muffled.

Tycho took a deep breath, glad that he was still carrying around a resident cold, and opened the door with a bit of trepidation.

"Tycho!" cried Winter and made a move as if to embrace him, but reared back in the last moment.

"What have you been doing? And what on Coruscant is that foul smell?"

Tycho smiled charmingly. "It's Wedge's favourite aftershave. He neglected to mention the odor."

There was a muffled sound from behind the refresher door that sounded like somewhat cursing. The door started to slide open. Tycho made a mad dash for the "close-button" and slapped his hand down on it.

Winter came closer, a bewildered smile on her face. "So what's in there?"

"You look beautiful my dear," Tycho said to alleviate the situation. Lady Winter wouldn't have been Agent Winter for the New Republic Intelligence if she hadn't seen through the situation in a matter of seconds. She stifled a smile. Pilots. Unbelievable at times. She'd had a chat with Leia about it lately and her friend had whole-heartedly agreed on the matter.

"So," she said warmly, "how was your evening? Did you have fun? I must say some of the messages you sent me had a strange touch to them...What was that about throwing pistachios at people?"

"Pistachios?" The door shouted. "What about pistachios?"

Unmistakably Hobbie. Tycho coughed loudly. "Oh, my cold is still bothering me."

"Poor dear," Winter said and came closer, putting a hand on his arm. Then she gave him a look and fluttered her lashes: "So, tell me, sweetheart, who are you hiding in there?"  
In face of so much persuasion powers, Tycho's defences crumbled. "What if I told you that there are wild Ewoks hiding?" he muttered weakly.

"Then I'd say," Winter smirked, "introduce me to them."

Tycho looked down and saw that she had caught his arm in a firm grip. Seeing that he couldn't reach the off-button any longer, the door slid open in a matter of seconds.

"Say hello to the wild Ewok Wedge," Wedge gave a little wave, his hair sticking up in all directions, "to the wild Ewok Wes," Wes had the grace to blush as he stood there in only a towel, "and the wild Ewok Hobbie." Hobbie smiled a winning smile and suddenly winced at a painful ache in his lower back caused by a night over a chair, causing him to double over, which in turn made the shelf over Wedge's sink come tumbling down.

Wedge frowned, Wes nearly lost the hold on his towel and Tycho covered his eyes in despair while a smirking Winter only looked on in amused silence.

"So, boys, looks like you had fun,"Winter laughed. "I'll leave you too it." She jabbed a finger into Tycho's chest. "Don't hide them again. And be on time for the dinner."

Tycho cautiously lowered the hand in front of his eyes. "Always, love."

With a kiss on his cheek and a friendly wave to the other Rogues, Winter was gone.

"So..." Wes said. He had his back to them and was rifling through Wedge's holo disks.

"What do you say to "Deedoowaddyshaddy- the terrifying adventures of a small Ewok and his friend the Bantha" or "Kiss, Kill or Kiss and Kill?" - he frowned complacently at that- or "The vast silence of space- a documentary about the Outer Rim Territories" or "Corellia, my Corellia- a loving tribute" or "Why the A-wing will triumph- the end of the X-wings"... " Here he stopped and turned to Wedge with a reproachful look on his face. "Wedge, what are you watching?"

Wedge said straight-faced: "I like it."

Three pairs of eyes snapped his way. The incredulous question was spoken by all three at once: "WHAT?"

Hobbie pondered this a while. "I seem to recall Tjana Nova playing the main character in nearly all of the holos you just mentioned..." he said in a casual way.

Tycho snorted, Wes grinned and Wedge said: "Well, she is a great actress. And good-looking, too."

Wes merely grinned. "Point taken."

Hobbie, who was pulling on his coat, laughed. "You are unbelievable, all of you. See you tomorrow, I got to get sleep elsewhere than on Wedge's chair."

Wes shot him a sly look. "Where do you mean?"

Hobbie rolled his eyes. "My bed, Wes," he said firmly. "Bye."

Wes held up a hand to stop him. "Hey, before you all go- I got an idea where we could go next weekend. I happen to know a bar-"  
They didn't even let him finish.

"NO!"

**_*Finis*_**

**_

* * *

_**

_tbc_


	24. Wes Janson: What dreams may come

_Hi everyone! First of all, a happy belated new year! I am sorry for not updating for so long, but Darth University is very influential and time- consuming ;-) Thank you very much for your reviews _**WestAero13**_ and _**TriGemini**_! _

_If you got the time and wish to read it, take a look at that long Hobbie story I've been telling you about for what, half a year?. The first chapter is now finally up and I've decided to publish it separately because it's really a stand-alone story, not a oneshot. You can find it in my profile; it's called "Peace of mind." But enough of the shameless story-promotion here :P_

_I hope you like this chapter :) It's quite different to the light-hearted one before to say the least. I was in a sadistic mood (-:_

_Hope you have a nice day and in a few days also a nice weekend!_

_-Sachita :)  
_

* * *

**What Dreams May Come**

**

* * *

**

It all happened so horribly quickly in hindsight. Later he wouldn't be able to recall the details of the planet's lush vegetation, nor the way his heart beat against his ribcage or the singularly brutal way the twigs tore into his very being when he rushed frantically through the thicket of the jungle, hoarsely bellowing: "Hobbie! Hobbie!"

What he could recall, even decades later, was the twisted shape of the X-wing that was lying mangled and broken in the jungle thicket. Memories, sharp like holoshots: the missing S-foil, the shattered canopy, the twisted nose of the proud fighter.

Tears were starting to run down his face as he urgently and sharply cried: "Hobbie!" And again: "Hobbie!" past a harsh sob, already thinking the unthinkable.

Finally there was the weak reply of a voice he had come to know very well over the course of the years: "Here, Wes."

Wes's perception of the next moments was first sharp relief, followed by horror as he reached the cockpit. Hobbie was pinned down by a huge transparisteel shard, a leftover of the broken canopy, which left him unable to move and painted the frayed edges of his orange flightsuit around it an angry red.

"Wes," Hobbie coughed. After a moment's shock, Wes tugged at the shard that was deeply embedded in Hobbie's midriff, eliciting a pained scream from Hobbie.

"S-Sorry," Wes stuttered in paralysed terror. Hobbie weakly shook his head. He was terribly pale and bright blood was bubbling over his lips. "Are you trying to get me killed, Wes?" he joked, choking on something that sounded like a laugh or a sob.

"I am gonna get you out of here," Wes mumbled hoarsely through his crippling unnamable panic. "I will."

"Of course you will," Hobbie replied- another thing which Wes would always remember; that utter, unshakeable conviction in his friend's voice, that faith in him, Wes.

But only seconds later urgent beeping from Crash V interrupted their endeavour.

"He says that the fuel tank will explode in ten seconds," Hobbie choked out, paling even further.

10

Then, before Wes had a chance to react, an odd look of determination crossed Hobbie's pain-stricken features. "I am not gonna make it, Wes, and I refuse to take you with me," he stated grimly.

9

For a long moment the sounds of the jungle around them stilled. Wes's heart ceased beating in that wild, incredulous silence, then picked up again, thumping No No No No No NO!

"No," he screamed, "No, Hobbs!"

8

Hobbie's face was just inches away, the blue eyes startling wide in a face that seemed suddenly so young-

7

-"I love you like a brother, Wes. You are my best friend."

And then, there was an image that was forever frozen in Wes's mind: Hobbie's sandy hair, tousled, sticking up at odd angles around his face, mouth firmly set and a sorrowful yet loving look in those dark blue eyes-

6

-"Go, Wes!" And with a strength, that only desperation can give, Hobbie pushed Wes out of the way-

5

-Wes fell, Hobbie's desolate look seared in his mind.

4

He screamed.

3

2

1…

A bright explosion hurtled him into darkness.

* * *

He awoke to the murmur of familiar voices. "…very lucky to have survived the explosion…report to Incom…fuel tank not supposed to explode that easily…"

Wes awoke with a gasp, staring uncomprehendingly up in the concerned faces of Wedge Antilles and Tycho Celchu.

"Wes-" That was Wedge.

"Hobbie?" Wes cut him off in a rough whisper.

"Wes," Tycho tried.

"No," he stated forcefully. The words hurt his chapped lips. "Hobbie?"

Tycho's face fell, tears were starting to gather in his normally so composed crystal blue eyes. Another pair of blue eyes, darker and filled with sorrow flashed through Wes's mind.

"No!" He sobbed. "Please no…"

But Wedge only wordlessly shook his head.

"No," Wes howled, "No! No!"

Wedge's and Tycho's face disappeared behind a veil of tears.

"No, No, No, No," he sobbed incoherently. "NO!"

The sedative, when it came, didn't even register with him anymore.

The next weeks were spent as if in a daze. After a month had passed by Wes was declared for light duty by a shrink who had clearly been blind for the mask Wes had worn had been one of his worst. Wes didn't care.

Wedge, after much contemplation, placed him on the active duty roster after another two months spent in apathy. Declarations of condolence came from all sides.

Wes was numb to it, them, everything. They pitied him. He stopped caring. He just existed.

Standing side by side, Tycho and Wedge surveyed Major Wes Janson who was working on his X-wing, assisted by some techs. "It might as well be a robot," Wedge commented bitterly. They had tried everything already. Nothing had worked. Wes didn't open up to any of them. His answers were polite, yet devoid of life. Just like a non-sentient machine.

"Ever since it happened," Wedge continued, choking slightly on the "it", "he has been acting as if he were dead, too."

Tycho nodded somberly. "It feels like it. Kriff," he whispered suddenly, "I miss Hobbie." After a moment's pause, he admitted helplessly: "I don't know what to do."

Wedge glanced sharply at his XO. Such an admission was rarely made by his second-in-command. He placed a hand on Tycho's shoulder and his reply came out much less certain than it had been intended: "It has to go on. We'll find a way."

* * *

It wasn't until a few weeks later that Wedge snapped. Wes had been doing well in the Sims, as he usually did as one of the Squadron's best pilots, but his comments might as well have been those of the bot who ran the simulations.

When Wes attempted to walk by him, Wedge grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look him in the eye. "Get yourself together, kriff it!" he yelled. Anger might not have been the best strategy, but helplessness dictated Wedge's actions in that moment.

Wes looked at him blankly. For some reason that made Wedge shake his shoulders harshly, for normally a witty Wes comeback should have been on the agenda now. Not this.

"I miss Hobbie too," Wedge intoned finally sorrowfully, his anger spent. His shoulders sagged.

Then Wes opened his mouth: "I don't care," he said emotionlessly.

Wedge let go of him in shock. "You-"he stuttered in shock. Then shock was replaced by fury.

"Get out of my sight, Major, "he ordered coldly. "I do not wish to see you until you are feeling more like yourself. I am also taking you off the active duty roster."

Without acknowledging anything Wedge had said, Wes turned around and walked away. Wedge was hard-pressed to stifle the sobs that rose in his throat.

* * *

Wes walked to his quarters on autopilot. He undressed. He lay down in his bed. He slept.

He dreamed- as he usually did- of Hobbie. But it wasn't like the usual nightmares of bloodied hands and reproachful blue eyes this time.

Instead, the Hobbie in his dream first thing fell over Lieutenant Kettch who was lying on the ground.

"Ow," he complained in his normal dour tone.

Wes stared at him.

Hobbie seemed delighted to see him once he had regained his footing.

"Wes!" he shouted out and hugged him warmly, then released him.

Wes stared at him.

"Are you a force ghost?" he ventured finally weakly.

Hobbie laughed out loud at this. "Force ghost? You actually think someone would give me a lightsabre? Or you for that matter?"

A shocked Wedge Antilles stumbled by in the background. "Wes and Hobbie with force powers? Oh my sweet Corellia!" he muttered darkly.

"What is Wedge doing here?" Hobbie asked in consternation.

"I don't know," Wes replied weakly.

"Well, it's _your_ mind," Hobbie pointed out. "He is a figment of _your_ imagination. Although," he added mournfully, "I can certainly see him reacting that way to the prospect of you with a lightsabre."

Wes stared at Wedge, who was now rummaging through some things in the background, then looked back at Hobbie.

"Are you a figment of my imagination, too?"

Hobbie pondered this for as long as a second. "No!" He replied in indignation. "This is your mind, Wes. If it was mine, I'd keep better order and wouldn't leave things lying around for my visitors to trip over!" He pointed accusingly at Lieutenant Kettch, who was suddenly sitting up and glaring at Hobbie, who scowled back.

"So you are real?" Wes gasped out and without waiting for a reply, launched himself at Hobbie. The tears he had denied himself for so long after that first fateful day of waking up, were suddenly coming strong and he couldn't stop them.

"You are really there," he sobbed into Hobbie's shoulder, who felt warm and real.

Hobbie stroked his back. "There, there," he soothed.

After a long while, Wes pulled back, though he kept his hand lying on Hobbie's shoulder, just to make sure.

"So you are no Force Ghost?"

"Nope," Hobbie confirmed with a broad smile.

"You have to be real," Wes muttered with a sigh and something akin to his former spirit. "Only you would come visit me and fall over something first hand."

"It's not my fault!" Hobbie complained. "You are the one with the mess in his head!"

"Kriff, Klivian, you are such a chaot!" Wes groused. A small smile made his way to his lips.

Hobbie smirked his infamous little smirk in reply. "Am not, Wes."

Then, suddenly, he became serious. "You have to let go of me, Wes. Stop behaving like C3PO. That's not you and we both know it."

He put a hand on Wes's arm and said somberly: "I am not real, Wes. Not in the normal world at least. I am gone. I am dead. And there is nothing you could have done to prevent that from happening."

Wes was silent. Then he eventually said in a small voice: "But I miss you, Hobbs. It's not the same without you around."

"As I miss you," Hobbie replied in kind. Then he pulled Wes into a fierce hug.

"You've got to go, don't you?" Wes asked.

"I do," Hobbie confirmed. "It'll be morning soon."

"I don't want you to go, please stay," Wes pleaded in a voice that made him sound as if he were decades younger.

"Wes, you've got to let me go," Hobbie mumbled sadly.

Wes kept his hands on Hobbie's shoulders for a long moment, then looked into those eyes that had haunted him every night. "Will I ever see you again?"

Hobbie laughed wryly. "There is nothing you can do against that," he chuckled.

Slowly he started to fade.

Wes held up a hand. "Bye, Hobbs."

"Bye, Wes. See you in a few." Slowly, Hobbie's lanky contours started to mesh with the background.

"And light up, will you?" Wes heard as his eyes slowly started to flutter open. "You are not me!"

Wes sat up. Slowly he reached up to touch his cheeks. They were wet.

"Bye," he whispered in the silence of his quarters. "Bye, Hobbie."

* * *

The first person Wes met when he came out his quarters that morning was Wedge, who looked at him in silence. Wes looked back uneasily.

"Wedge, I-" Wes began. He searched for words and then stood up straight. "General Antilles, I wish to apologise for my conduct."

Wedge measured him with those dark eyes of his and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Welcome back, Wes," he said warmly. "I am glad."

For a moment something pained Wes couldn't quite suppress hushed across his face and deep inside, he knew that he could never be the same. But maybe he could endeavour to come close to it.

"Thanks," he replied simply.

Wedge nodded. "You might want to help Tycho set up the sims for the newbies," he suggested.

"Will do," Wes said. Wedge was a few metres away, when Wes called: "Hey, Boss, did you hear about Lieutenant Kettch? He has got himself a lightsabre now!"

And with a small smile and a jaunty wave reminiscent of the Wes before, he rounded the corner. In a quiet corridor he stopped.

"It's still hard, Hobbs," he whispered, "but I am trying."

He gave a small salute to the thin air, then smiled tightly and walked away.

* * *

Decades later, a young trainee pilot asked an aging Colonel Janson:

"Sir, what would Major Klivian say now to send us on our way?"

The bunch of young pilots had been Colonel Janson's training squadron and was now ready to be released to the world of lasers and fire, or at least as ready as they could ever be. The other pilots stared wide-eyed at the one who had spoken.

Sure, Colonel Janson often told them of Major Hobbie Klivian, who had died so long ago yet was a legend as one of the "heroes of Yavin and Endor", but no one had dared to ask the Colonel outright about him before.

However, the Colonel simply nodded and smiled slightly. "Well, what do you think he'd say?"

"Maybe he'd wish us luck," the young pilot mumbled. "He seems to have been an impressive pilot from your tales, sir."

"Oh, that he was," the Colonel confirmed, "and the greatest friend you can think of." After a moment's pause he added: "But he wouldn't wish you luck."

A fine smile curled the corners of his lips. "I believe he would say that now you are definitely doomed."

They stared at him in bemused silence, but the Colonel merely smiled again and gave them a two-fingered salute:

"Good luck."

* * *

**-Fin-**


End file.
